


Heart of Kyber

by esama



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Artificial Intelligence, Droids, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tatooine Slave Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-12 03:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: Jedi High Council forbids Anakin's training - so Anakin makes his own.





	1. Chapter 1

"I’m sorry, Anakin," Qui-Gon says. "The Council has made its decision, I’m afraid my efforts at this point will not change their minds."

He would not be a Jedi. The Jedi Council thought he was too old, too dangerous – too full of fear or whatever… and he wouldn’t be trained. All the stuff they’d done, everything they’d gone through – Naboo and  _ everything  _ and still… He wouldn’t be a Jedi after all. He wouldn’t become Qui-Gon’s Padawan, he wouldn’t one day become a Jedi Knight, he wouldn’t…

He thinks he’s disappointed. He should be disappointed and yeah he kinda is, but he’s other things too. Mad, mostly. Weirdly betrayed. Kind of… He’s not sure if there’s word for the feeling of  _ we went through all this for nothing? _ Outrage maybe. Bitterness. Annoyance. All sorts of feelings with Anakin supposes makes him unsuitable to be a Jedi. Mostly thought…

Mostly he feels resigned.

Why had he  _ ever  _ expected anything different?

"What happens to me now?" Anakin asks quietly, and expects the worst.

Qui-Gon hesitates and then sighs, crouching down in front of him. "Well, there are options," he says gently. "There are positions within the Jedi Order that do not require a Jedi’s training or mastery of the Force. Maintenance staff, support staff – we also employ a number of pilots..."

Qui-Gon gives him a haphazard litany of jobs he might be able to fulfil. Anakin listens to it sort of listlessly – okay, some of it don’t sound  _ bad _ per say, like being a pilot for the Jedi Order, that probably wouldn’t be half bad. Nothing like being a Jedi Knight – but flying Jedi Knights around the galaxy, that could be pretty neat. And yet…

He thought he’d become a Jedi. That was what Qui-Gon had promised him. That he would be a very powerful Jedi Knight, that it was his destiny, that he was meant to be a Jedi Knight – even his mother had said it, that Anakin was meant to be found by Qui-Gon, that this was the path he was made for…

To lose that and then become a pilot for the Order, it’s… Objectively he knows it’s a damn good job, especially for a former slave, definitely better than anything he could’ve gotten on Tatooine. He’d probably be paid, too, something Jedi aren’t, and that’d definitely be awesome, and yet…

It’s not becoming a Jedi. He’d be servant to Jedi, a paid servant, but never a Jedi himself.

Anakin looks down and he feels terribly, terribly bitter.

Qui-Gon watches him silently and sighs. "Or if you’d like," he says very quietly. "I have been given leeway to return you to Tatooine and to your mother."

Anakin squeezes his eyes shut.

Mom probably wouldn’t want him to. She’d want him to be free and away from Tatooine, the same as any sane parent of a former slave child did. But at the same time she’d want him to do what he wanted to do – she’d want him to be happy.

Anakin might find some joy in being a pilot of the Jedi Order, if he could even be one… but he wouldn’t be happy.

"Can I think about it?" Anakin asks, looking at Qui-Gon. Strange, how Qui-Gon doesn’t look all wise and all powerful anymore. He’d seemed so strong before, like he could do anything if he just put his mind to it – now… now he just looks like a man. A human man who, like everyone else, has to follow rules.

"For a day," Qui-Gon says apologetically. "The ship we would take to Tatooine leaves tomorrow."

Anakin draws a breath and then exhales slowly. Why do Jedi do everything so damn fast. All decisions are made instantly, no one’s given any time to think or hesitate. Like in Tatooine where Qui-Gon sprung the whole freeing-him thing at the very last moment, like in the Jedi Council Chambers where Master Windu decided that, no, Anakin wouldn’t be trained, seemingly without second thought…

If he didn’t know for a fact how much time Jedi – or Qui-Gon in particular – spent meditating, he’d think that the Jedi never actually  _ think _ about what they do.

Not that he really needs to think about this, not really. If he can’t be a Jedi, then – then there’s no point.

"How about I show you around the temple?" Qui-Gon offers. "Show you the places and positions that might still be open for you? That way, whatever you decide, it will be an informed decision."

Anakin hesitates and then nods. "Yeah, alright," he says.

His mind is sort of made already but… it would be interesting to see everything he’ll be missing out, when he returns to Tatooine, anyway.

If nothing else it would give him something to tell to his mother when he saw her again.

* * *

The Jedi temple is massive and impressive and  _ cold. _ Anakin had been sort of giving it a free pass until now, how damn chilly the place is, but now that he knows he’s not staying, he lets himself dislike it. The place is  _ cold _ and it’s not just the atmospheric controls. The people here, they feel cold.

The other Jedi nod and bow their heads to Qui-Gon as they pass, giving Anakin curious looks, but they don’t ask and they don’t say anything to him. That’s fine, though, Anakin wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. He doesn’t think they know he was a Jedi hopeful who got disappointed, though, so that’s something.

They don’t feel like anything, these people, the Jedi. Qui-Gon feels very quiet and calm, but not like most of the Jedi in the Order do – they don’t… they don’t  _ feel _ . Now that Anakin isn’t feeling particularly charitable about the weirdness of the Jedi, he decides he doesn’t like it.

It’s not something he’s ever thought much of, but in Tatooine people feel vividly. Their pain is visceral and their happiness radiant and rarely is it suppressed. Slaves, even when their expressions are humble and blank and subservient, feel the strongest of all, because in most cases it’s all they have – their minds and their feelings the only freedom they’ve been given. So they feel with  _ brutal  _ force, their hate like a fire and their bitterness thorny and vicious.

The Jedi feel like blank walls in comparison.

"I hope you have enjoyed your stay at the Jedi Temple," one of them tells him – but she doesn’t  _ feel _ like it at all. She doesn’t feel like anything. She doesn’t  _ care. _

"Yeah," Anakin says, his expression humble while unease and disquiet course through him. He thinks she can feel it. He doesn’t really care though. "It’s been really something."

Qui-Gon coughs awkwardly and then puts a hand on his shoulder. "Let’s go and have a look at the archives, shall we?" he says, bows to the other master, and steers Anakin away.

The Jedi Archives are, like the rest of the temple, massive. Rows upon rows of enormous shelves covered in glowing data disks, easily hundreds of thousands of them. Anakin has seen maybe three proper data disks in his life – two of them broken and one of them part of a computer core of a spaceship that Watto had fixed up and sold – and to see so many of them in one place is a little mind blowing.

"The Jedi Archives," Qui-Gon says. "The biggest repository of knowledge in the entire galaxy. If there is a point of data that exists in the galaxy, there will be a copy of it here."

Anakin’s fingers twitch. "Really?" he asks, both dubious and amazed. "The galaxy is really big. And really old."

"And so is this archive," Qui-Gon says with a faint smile and glances around. "The maintenance and support staff of the Jedi Order has a limited access to the Archive files," he then says, gently suggestive. "If you decide to stay… you might one day have access to some of what this place has to offer."

Instantly that rubs Anakin the wrong way. It’s not just the off hand bribe of it, or the concept of  _ limited access  _ whereas Jedi would probably have a  _ not so limited access _ . It’s implied truth that Qui-Gon doesn’t quite say, but which Anakin still hears – that most people don’t have access to this place. Maybe no one does, really, only the Jedi. Biggest repository of knowledge in the Galaxy – and it’s not open for everybody.

In the Slave Quarter Row in Tatooine they have a private, cobbled-together network that runs through the whole row of synthstone buildings – nothing like the Holonet of course, but a network of information anyway. In it the slaves of the Row share everything – recipes, suggestions, tricks, news, rumours… births and deaths.

_ Knowledge _ , Anakin’s mother had once whispered to him when the times were especially bad and a number of slaves had been publicly executed for half-assed charges to serve as example to the rest.  _ Knowledge is the best, sharpest weapon we have. To know is to be powerful – in ignorance we are weak. _

In the Quarter Row, every slave knows how to read and write despite what their masters thought or wished outside it. They study skills they’re not supposed to know – they self teach themselves medicine and science and mechanics, anything and everything that made them a little bit smarter, a little bit stronger. Sometimes it was to up their monetary value – skilled slaves were less likely to be killed. Sometimes though, sometimes it was just to know a little bit more than what was given to them by their oh so gracious masters.

To know that the Jedi know  _ everything _ but limit the access to that knowledge, it’s…

Qui-Gon watches him curiously, even worriedly, and Anakin looks away and forces his mind still. Does Qui-Gon approve this… this limiting of knowledge? Anakin doesn’t know and he doesn’t know how to ask.

"Do you want to have a look?" Qui-Gon offers.

Anakin looks up, surprised, and with a smile Qui-Gon motions to one of the terminals. As Anakin watches, he activates it and then inserts in a code that opens the term search and file directory. "Go ahead," Qui-Gon says and smiles secretively. "You can look up anything in the whole galaxy."

Anakin swallows and tentatively steps closer to the terminal. "Anything?" he asks.

"Anything at all," Qui-Gon offers and motions him to have a go.

Anakin hesitates for a moment and then takes seat, staring at the terminal for a moment. Then, after thinking a bit, he reaches for the keypad and types in,  _ Tatooine _ .

He can almost feel Qui-Gon’s drawn breath at that but ignores it as the screen flashes and then the file directory for Tatooine opens up. History, maps, trade status, local trade routes, government status…

Anakin hits on History and leans in to read all about the world he’s spent most of his life on, and never seen more than one city’s worth. And it’s not particularly surprising that he doesn’t know much about his home world, nothing at all really. It wasn’t always a desert. It used to have greenery – it used to have  _ oceans. _

Qui-Gon hovers about him for a while as Anakin reads, desperately trying to press it all into his memory. Jawas were, unsurprisingly, the native sentient species of the planet – and that’s where the name for the world came from too, from Jawaese –  _ Tah doo Een e _ was the Jawaese name for their world. People thought once that Tatooine would have precious minerals and metals and such, there was a huge colonisation and mining boom – and then some minor wars and whatnot. Eventually it was found that there was element in Tatooine that has a corrosive effect on just about everything. It rusts metals, ruins minerals, ages people faster, and so on and so on. Average life expectancy of humans in Tatooine is decades below the galactic average – even people who move in later at life have hard time living past their sixties.

Some of that Anakin already knew, it is one of those things that are just  _ known _ on Tatooine, but having thing  _ known _ and having it proven factually accurate by Galactic Archives, that’s different.

Funny, even the Jedi Archives don’t know what the  _ corrosive element  _ of Tatooine actually is. They suspect it has to to do with the radiation from the double suns, it might have to to do with the heat, or maybe it’s some lingering effect of the glassing bombardments that had wrecked the planet’s ecosphere… but no one knows for sure.

Anakin thinks of the hot currents of the Force in Tatooine, and wonders. Then he moves on to read about trade routes and Tatooine’s galactic standing, its history with criminal underbelly of the Galaxy, of the Hutts and, of course… slavery.

There’s not much about that, in the archives. And what there is, is… not actually all that informative. Some statistics about slave species, some points about the methods of slavery, the slave chips and whatnot, but nothing actually helpful.

"Anakin," Qui-Gon says quietly. "I want to go speak with Madame Jocasta for a moment – can you stay here until I come back, please?"

"Yeah yeah," Anakin says, clicking to Hutts instead. Then he glances back from the corner of his eye as Qui-Gon, feeling quietly troubled by something, walks off to talk to an elder human woman, probably a librarian.

Anakin hesitates for a moment, looking at the terminal screen. He does want to know more about Hutts – like, say, most efficient way of  _ killing them _ maybe, but…

He closes the window and then types another search in.  _ Jedi _ .

There’s a lot of results. History with thousands of sub folders, function of the Jedi, the Force with again thousands of sub folders, Jedi ranks, Jedi Order, combat forms, diplomacy, Jedi trials, Kyber, Holocrons, Lightsabers…

Anakin highlights everything and checks how many files there are. Millions. There are millions of files in thousands of folders.

There is no conceivable way he can ever read them all, especially not with the little time he has. And he doesn’t think Qui-Gon would even let him, since the Jedi Council had forbade his training and all. He’s treading on forbidden territory, accessing forbidden knowledge and there is no way he can even skim the surface of it, never mind make any use of it…

But he wants it. He wants it all, he wants  _ all of it. _ And it’s wrong for the Jedi to withhold knowledge like this – the whole Archives thing is  _ wrong  _ but this is personal now. This is what he was promised, and sure it wasn’t really Qui-Gon’s to promise in the end, but… but Anakin doesn’t care anymore. He wants it.

But how to get it, all of it?

Anakin breathes in and and out and then glances around. There are hundreds of thousands of data disks everywhere, he could snatch up any one of them and do a data transfer – but would they be big enough to hold all the data? Probably not, not with millions of files. He needs something better, he needs something… something  _ bigger _ . But what?

Something pings at the back of his head and Anakin turns, his eyes narrowed. Behind him, there is a display case of – of shiny stuff. They look like crystals, or maybe like a child’s puzzle cube. It’s all in pieces arranged in patterns across black cloth. It seems to shine in his senses and something whispers in the back of Anakin’s head, this is what he needs.

Qui-Gon is asking the Jedi Librarian something and she’s motioning elsewhere. They go together, talking quietly amongst themselves and Anakin stands up slowly and moves to the vitrine.

_ Holocron construction _ reads on a brass plaque under the display case. Holocron, that was one of the things in the file directory? Some sort of Jedi thing. Anakin has never heard of it, but when he concentrates, he can feel it – this is, somehow, just what he needs. This thing is exactly what he’s looking for.

Anakin reaches out a hand, hesitates, and then brushes a finger across the weird crystal structure of the finished cube. It seems to ring like a bell, except not in sound, when he touches it and it’s – it’s mechanical. It’s like peering inside an engine or a circuit, except it's one with thousands of layers, a multitude of facets, thousands of mirrors reflecting in on themselves in millions of possibilities. Quantum computing, he thinks, but that not quite right. It’s like – it’s dimensional. It’s a multitude of dimensions, folded into single space.

It's incredible. It's beautiful. And the whisper in the back of his head is right – it's exactly what he needs. The space in the crystal cube’s thousands of folds is almost unfathomable, it's that big. It could store the millions of files about the Jedi, easily. It would be stealing but… it's not like he hasn't done that before.

Anakin snatches up the cube and then quickly returns to the terminal before he can think twice about stealing from the Jedi. He has more important things to worry about than the moral issues of thievery – like how to transfer millions of files into a the crystal cube.

Thankfully, the archives themselves have an answer to that – all he has to do is search for  _ holocron data transfer _ and the Archive is happy enough to supply him with step by step instructions. Take cube, place cube in angular slot in table, wait for cube to light up, begin transfer. Apparently the Jedi Order uses a photon based data streaming – because the transfer of all of those millions of files takes barely ten seconds.

Anakin takes the cube – which now emits a soft, yellowish light – and quickly hides it under his tunic. It feels warm there, pressed against his belly. It feels comforting.

Qui-Gon is coming back now, though – so quickly Anakin closes the search results and goes back to reading up on Tatooine, quickly pushing all thoughts about the holocron cube away.

"I have something for you," Qui-Gon says. He's holding a datapad. "Here, have a look."

"What is it?" Anakin asks, a bit worriedly.

"Some information about other orders of Force Sensitives," Qui-Gon says as he sits down beside Anakin. The Jedi looks at him seriously and then smiles sadly. "You are not going to stay with us here in the Temple, are you?"

Anakin presses his lips together tightly and looks away

"I understand," Qui-Gon sighs. "This has been a terrible disappointment to you and I am very sorry about it, I'm sorry about giving you hopes that were then proven false. But you are still very strong in the Force and I fear, left untrained… your strength might prove to be your undoing."

Anakin says nothing, staring at the terminal mutinously, while the cube burns, hidden under his tunic. Qui-Gon sighs again. "In any case – the Jedi Order is not the only order out there that follows the way of the Force and perhaps you might find your way with some of the others. Have you ever heard of the Guardians of the Whills?"

Anakin shakes his head. "What are they?"

"An organisation not terribly different from the Jedi in their way of thinking – they are, in simplest terms, an order for warrior monks. They follow a more ancient faith of the Force, one that is said predate the Jedi Order entirely," Qui-Gon explains somewhat conspiratorially and activates the datapad.

He means well, Anakin thinks, eyeing the man somewhat dubiously. Qui-Gon has only ever meant well. He's just trying to help. It's a bit too late now and Anakin is definitely not becoming a kriffin monk. But Qui-Gon is just trying to help, as much as he can with the Council forbidding actual training.

Refusing to feel guilty about the stolen holocron, Anakin leans in to read.

* * *

Anakin gets to spend another night at the Jedi Temple, sleeping in the low couch in Qui-Gon’s solitary quarters, staring at the singular rocky plant sitting in the middle of the tea table in front of him. Qui-Gon is disappointed, he thinks – the man really wanted him to stay, or if not stay then maybe join some other order of Force Users, but in the end Anakin just wanted to go home.

"It’s your decision of course," the Jedi said with a sigh. "I am still very sorry."

And he actually means it too, which is both nice and kind of awful. Qui-Gon is trying not to show it but he’s all sorts of let down – in part by Anakin, in part by the Jedi Order. It almost makes Anakin ask,  _ If it’s so damn important that I’m trained, then why don’t you just leave and come with me? _ ...but that would probably be unfair.

Still, it’s not a happy night and Anakin doesn’t get much sleep – spending the time Qui-Gon meditates staring at the plant. It’s the only piece of "decoration" in the room and it’s not even a nice one. Are Jedi forbidden from making their places nice? They all dress pretty much the same, all wearing simple clothing and they act the same and they mostly talk the same…

Anakin is starting to realise he doesn’t know that much about the Jedi, as a whole. About as much as everyone does, probably. They serve the Republic, they keep peace, they do negotiations – they help people in need. Except when they don’t. Like in Tatooine.

Qui-Gon’s gone to his bedroom now, so Anakin dares to take out the Holocron cube and look at it. It’s still shimmering with faint yellow glow – internal power source maybe? It feels warm in his hands too, familiar and comforting. All the knowledge about the Jedi of the Archives, in the palm of his hand.

Qui-Gon didn’t need to worry about his training. One day Anakin would know it all. It makes him feel kind of guilty, like maybe he should tell Qui-Gon about it, to make the man worry less, but… but if he did Qui-Gon would probably take the holocron away. No, he definitely would, and he would probably be mad too.

Anakin turns the cube in his hands, fascinated by the shimmering light within. He can still sort of look into it and see all the folds and endless spaces within it – but they’re full now, with wisps of data sparking between layers. He can’t quite  _ see _ into the data itself, but it’s still fascinating to watch.

He would need to build a reader for the thing, probably from scratch. And a system to search through the millions of files. Photon reader, that would probably be expensive and tricky.

He can’t wait.

* * *

The next day, they board a freighter bound for the Outer Rim. Qui-Gon is quit as they do, serious and thoughtful and little bit resigned while Anakin looks around curiously.

This ship isn’t anything like the Naboo cruiser. Padme’s ship had been pretty and sleek inside and out – all new, state state of the art and all that, with every surface polished and gleaming. This ship on other hand is old and sort of cobbled together, wires and piping sticking out of the inner walls and the temperature shifting between rooms. It looks a lot more like what one might expect, in the Outer Rim.

"Your cabin, feel free to stay there as much as you’d like. Meal time is twice a day," the ship’s captain tells them. "Mind your own business, and we don’t mind it for you, okay? Okay. Good. Have a pleasant trip."

With that said, they’re left in the cabin, which only has the one bed and even that has just a thin mattress on it.

"Well it won’t be more than couple of days," Qui-Gon says with a faint smile and motions Anakin to take the bed before reaching down to ease his own boots off. "We’ll manage."

"Yeah," Anakin sighs and sits down, pushing his backpack off. "I… didn’t think the ship would be like this."

"How so?"

"Padme’s ship was so nice. I thought…" Anakin shrugs and looks around.

"Well that was the private ship of a monarch of a planet," Qui-Gon chuckles and sits down on the floor, legs folded under him. "In general we Jedi travel much more… humbly."

Anakin hums and looks at me. "Can you tell me more about the Jedi?" he asks and kicks his shoes off too, so that he can cross his feet on the mattress. "How do Jedi usually travel? You said you have pilots, but this isn’t a Jedi ship, is it?"

"We have pilots, yes, but they’re only employed on special, important missions. In general, Jedi travel by buying berths on freighters bound for the destinations they themselves are aiming for," Qui-Gon says and then tells him bit about the more common way he travels around, doing a Jedi’s duties. The Naboo mission had been a special one – his mission had been negotiating settlement with the Trade Federation so he’d gotten there on board a Jedi Order own transport – but it had been destroyed by the Trade Federation.

"I barely got out of there with my life," Qui-Gon muses. "I had to hitchhike a ride on board a droid launch ship. Now that was cramped mode of travel."

"Do you always work alone?" Anakin asks, frowning a little.

"Not always, but in general, yes," Qui-Gon agrees and looks at him. "If you had become my Padawan you would have worked with me, but…"

Anakin frowns a little and tucks his knees to his chest, hugging his legs for warmth. "Have you had a student before?" he asks curiously.

"Yes, twice," Qui-Gon says. "My first padawan, Feemor, is now a Jedi Master himself. My second Padawan, Xanatos…" he trails away and then smiles. "His training failed, I’m afraid, and he’s no longer with us."

Anakin looks at him, feeling a twinge of old pain from Qui-Gon. "Training can fail?" he asks, thinking about what Master Windu and Yoda said, about him being too old, too emotional, too big of a risk.

"... yes," Qui-Gon says and sighs. "Xanatos wanted more than the Jedi Order could give him. His attachments to his homeworld, in the end they meant more to him than my teachings. And so he left us."

There’s more to it than that – Anakin can almost hear all the things he’s not saying. "Is that why the Jedi Council said no to me?" Anakin asks quietly.

Qui-Gon is quiet for a moment and then sighs. "Perhaps," he admits. "If it had been another Knight who found you, if they had presented you more favourably, perhaps…" he shakes his head.

Anakin looks down and leans his chin onto his knee. "I wouldn’t have left," he murmurs.

Qui-Gon gives him a faint smile and then looks down. "I’m sure you wouldn’t have," he says and again there’s more he’s not saying. "Would you like to hear more about the Jedi?"

"Yes, please," Anakin says, and settles down to listen to the stories of Qui-Gon’s missions and past deeds – and all the things he’d never get to experience himself.

* * *

The journey from Coruscant to Tatooine isn’t near as pleasant as they way there on board the Naboo Cruiser had been, but at least it goes by fast, with Qui-Gon filling the time telling him stories – and even trying to teach him to meditate. Apparently it’s a good habit to get into, even if you’re not a Jedi.

"Calm, ordered mind is only a benefit to you, no matter where you come from," Qui-Gon tells him. "It helps you think clearer when the situation demands fast action."

"So that’s why you do it and why you make all your decisions so fast, huh?" Anakin asks. "You do all your thinking and second guessing beforehand."

"Well, no, not quite," Qui-Gon laughs. "But it certainly helps."

Anakin doesn’t really get the hang of meditation in the two days Qui-Gon tries to teach it to him – calm your mind is not good advice to someone with a  _ lot _ on their minds. The best Anakin manages is a state where he can just let his mind wander freely, thoughts coming in and out and going whichever way they will, but he doesn’t think that’s quite it. Still, it’s something.

And then, just like that, they’re back on Tatooine, where the freighter lands in Mos Espa and Qui-Gon leads Anakin out through the freighter’s side hatch and back into the oppressive heat under double suns. After the heat hits him, the smell follows – dust and dirt and filth, engine fumes and rusting metal. There’s people milling about the landing site – they’ve landed in the warehouse district of Mos Espa, where people are already coming forward to unload the Freighter’s cargo. After the cleanliness of the Jedi Temple and it’s people who bathed sometimes twice a day... the people of Tatooine stink.

Home sweet home.

"Where would your mother be at this hour?" Qui-Gon asks him, once they’re made little ways off the ship, out of people’s way.

"At the shop, probably," Anakin answers. Now that he’s not there, she’d be working there in his stead. "You don’t have to walk me there – I know my way around."

"Yes and better than I do, certainly," Qui-Gon says and sighs. "But there are things I wish to discuss with your mother in person – and I want to apologise. It is only right – I made a promise to her I could not keep and she deserves an explanation."

Anakin looks up at him warily and then nods. She’d appreciate it, he knows. "Okay then, let’s go, I guess."

Tatooine hasn’t changed – which, of course, it wouldn’t have. It’s only been few days. They feel so much longer though. In the days in between now and when he left, he’s seen war, he’s flown a star fighter, he’s exploded a  _ droid control ship _ . There was a big party and everything too – thinking back to it now, the victory celebrations on Naboo, makes his head spin a little. There’d been so much food!

To go from that… back to this…

There are people scurrying along the dusty roads, slaves and freemen, going about their business. There’s animal waste strewn about on the streets, left there by the draft animals mostly used by moisture farmers – cheaper than keeping a speeder in Tatooine. There are people loitering about in any bit of shadow they could find, smoking or drinking to pass the time. It’s almost double noon now, and they’re gathering up the bazaar, to get merchandise indoors where it’s cooler before the main heat would hit.

Soon the streets would empty, and for an hour there’d be quiet as people waited in cooler places for the double noon to pass. It had always been Anakin’s favourite time of the day, because nothing happened during double noon. Things just got quiet and still, a break enforced by the solar system itself.

It’s maybe the only thing he’s missed about Tatooine, aside from his mother and maybe his home. In Naboo and in Coruscant, there was no double noon, there was no quiet time when things got too hot to do anything in. No it was all action, all the time.

Okay that’s a lie. He’s missed the heat. Turns out galaxy outside Tatooine is kriffin  _ cold. _

"Here," Anakins says and leads Qui-Gon through an alley. "Short cut."

"Mmhmm," Qui-Gon agrees and follows him amiably. He’s wearing the poncho again, jedi stuff hidden under it – Anakin wonders if he should tell the guy that his poncho is way too fancy to pass for normal in Tatooine, but… it probably doesn’t really matter.

Soon, they’re at Watto’s shop. It, surprisingly, does look a little different. There’s not so much stuff out in the front, it’s almost been cleared out – instead there are few boxes sitting in the front, full of parts and it looks like… like they’re being prepared to be taken away. Sold maybe? Or maybe…

Suspicious now, Anakin marches inside and – yeah. Everything there is in process of being crated up too – lot of it has already been taken away. Watto is clearing out the shop. He’s sold the place.

"Ani?"

The voice is feeble with shock and still it makes Anakin’s heart skip a beat. He whirls around and there is his mother – and there, on his mother’s face, there is a bruise.

"Mom?" Anakin asks, excited and horrified and then runs to her. She almost drops the engine parts she’s carrying to catch him and at his urging she falls to her knees, hugging him confusedly and shakily while he takes her face in his hands.

"Someone hit you?" Anakin demands to know. It’s not a new bruise – it’s few days old. She’s had worse, this one hasn’t even swollen her eye or anything, but it’s still a bruise. She’s been hit. Someone hit his mom. "Did  _ Watto _ hit you?!"

"What – no, that’s – Anakin," Shmi says and shakes her head. "What are you – how are you here? You’re not supposed to be here, Qui-Gon was supposed to – " she stops and looks up and probably sees Qui-Gon. "What is going on?" she asks shakily.

"I’m sorry, Shmi," Qui-Gon says quietly. "The Jedi Order has forbade my training of Anakin. I came to bring him home."

Anakin more feels the sob than hears it, before Shmi wrangles it back down and breathes in and out slowly to smother the reaction she otherwise would’ve had. When she looks at him, she smiles and it looks  _ terrible. _ "I have missed you," she says, and she means it too, but it hurts.

She didn’t want him to return.

"I’m still free, Mom," Anakin says quickly. "Being back doesn’t make me a slave again – I’m back, yeah, but I’m back as freeman."

She smiles and nods but it doesn’t make her happy. "I’m sure you have lot to tell me," she says and sniffles before quickly wiping at the corner of her eye with the heel of her hand. "Right now, I – I really need to go back to work, Ani. The shop needs to be cleared out before the night."

Anakin looks around. There’s a lot to left to pack. "What happened?" he asks. "Did Watto sell it?"

"He lost it in a card game," Shmi says with a faint laugh and looks around. "The new owner wants us out before tomorrow."

Anakin blinks. Lost it in a cardgame? Why would Watto ever bet the shop in a card game? Sure, he gambles, a lot, but to make the store a bet, that’s… Watto’s not usually that stupid. "Is that why he hit you?" he asks suspiciously.

"Never you mind that Anakin," Shmi says and looks around and then at Qui-Gon. "How long are you staying – can you stay the night?" she asks worriedly.

"My ship leaves tomorrow," Qui-Gon says quietly, looking around the shop. "I can wait. In fact, I can help. Just tell me what to put where and I will help you pack."

"Yeah, me too – we’ll get it done quicker, the three of us," Anakin says and puts his backpack down.

Shmi looks between them, looking stressed and relieved and confused all at once, and then she nods. "Alright – those parts there, put them in that box please, and once it’s full take it outside…"

They don’t get to talk much as they work, there’s too much to do. All the random crap Watto had collected over the years had to be put away and as they do Anakin wonders where exactly is it all going. To Watto’s house? Or had he lost that too? Thankfully the backyard has already been cleared out – looks like most everything worth anything has been sold, and Anakin has to wonder how. Some of those engines and whatnot had been sitting in the yard for months and in some cases years. Had Watto finally lowered the prices?

Just how much had Watto lost, anyway, and how? Was it the races? Anakin knows he bet a lot of money against Anakin, just to spite Qui-Gon and Qui-Gon probably egged him on there, but… to lose the shop…

"Watto lost everything," Shmi tells him when he finally gets a moment to ask. "He bet more money than he had in the races, and he lost you to Qui-Gon. He tried to win some more by betting more, but… seems like his luck ran out. He’s still in debt."

"Is he now," Qui-Gon murmurs behind them, and carries another box outside. He returns moments later, brushing his hands together and looking thoughtful. "How much in debt would you say he is, now?"

"More than selling all of this will give him," Shmi says, giving him a look. "Why?"

Qui-Gon looks between her and Anakin and then looks outside. "Well," he says. "Last time I tried to buy something from him, he refused to take Republic credits," he says. "Maybe now that things are little more dire for him…"

Anakin shares a look with his mother. "W-what exactly would you buy?" Shmi asks warily.

"What would twenty thousand republic credits get me?" Qui-Gon asks, giving her a meaningful look.

Anakin chokes a little at that and Shmi wavers for a moment. "You… do know that there are a lot of people here who would happily exchange that for you, right?" she asks faintly. "Lot of freighters come and go here, and people do business on republic side… there are those here who use credits. You could even have it exchanged to platinum."

Qui-Gon pauses at that. "I... see," he says then, looking a little sheepish. "Yes, I imagine I could do that, yes."

Anakin stares at him for a moment incredulously. Seriously? Did they seriously go through the whole pod race thing because Qui-Gon Jinn doesn’t know money exchange is a thing?

"Ani," Shmi says, turning to him. "Can you take Qui-Gon to Dinah? She can set him up with a good exchange rate."

"Yeah, okay," Anakin says, shaking his head at Qui-Gon’s embarrassed expression. "I can do that, yeah."

* * *

One money exchange later, Qui-Gon comes back twenty thousand credits short and twelve thousand wupiupi richer. It’s not exactly a wild fortune Anakin had hoped it would be, once exchanged – turns out the rate of credits to hutt’s gold is not great. But it’s still a lot. Twelve thousand wupiupi could buy you a small spaceship if you bargained right.

It could also buy you a slave.

"How come you have money anyway?" Anakin asks. "I thought Jedi aren’t paid."

"They aren’t – these are the funds of my last mission," Qui-Gon says and gives him a slightly mischievous look. "And as far as the Jedi Council knows, they were spent buying the Naboo cruiser a new hyperdrive engine – and your freedom."

"Are you kidding me?" Anakin asks dubiously. "Isn’t that… stealing?"

"Call it justifiable allocation of funds."

"So, righteous stealing," Anakin says flatly. "I don’t think the Jedi Council would approve."

"What the Jedi Council doesn’t know they can’t disprove," Qui-Gon says calmly and then gives him a look. "It was my intention to save as much was needed to buy your mother’s freedom, once you became my Padawan. Things did not turn out that way, but if this money helps at all now… Then I will feel no guilt for my actions."

Anakin swallows and looks down. Qui-Gon meant to buy his Mom, once Anakin became his student? They were always going to come back for Mom? "I-I think it will be enough," he says shakily. "Watto will try to scam you for more though, so don’t tell him you have twelve thousand – he will ask for all of it."

"Alright," Qui-Gon says and puts the money away. "How much should i start with?"

"Five thousand. He’ll probably ask for twenty or something ridiculous, but don’t give in easily. Mom’s worth about fourteen thousand, that’s how much Watto bought her for, but with the debt he doesn’t have much space to make demands. So haggle him like hell," Anakin says firmly. "The lower you can keep it, the better."

Qui-Gon nods slowly. "I wouldn’t want to make your mother feel cheap, but i will try to keep the price low."

"Trust me, she’ll be happy either way," Anakin says. "And if there’s any money left over…" he trails away meaningfully.

Qui-Gon nods away. "I’ll try and do my best in that case."

Anakin nods back and looks away. He’s still kind of reeling about the idea that Qui-Gon would’ve come back to buy his mom’s freedom too if he could’ve. Anakin had thought that as a Jedi he would’ve had to put all thought about his mom aside, that he was supposed to forget because Jedi didn’t have families… but Qui-Gon had been planning to come back.

Qui-Gon would’ve still freed his mom.

Anakin’s stomach twists a little, as he for a moment imagines it, that other life that could’ve been. He could’ve been a Jedi and still had his mom. Qui-Gon would’ve let it, regardless of how the Jedi Council would’ve disapproved.

For the first time, Anakin lets himself be sad, honestly truly sad, that Qui-Gon isn’t going to be his master after all. He’d always liked the man, Qui-Gon was warm and funny when he wanted to be and strong, and he obviously liked Anakin, thought well of him. Now though… now it’s somehow more. Qui-Gon didn’t just like him – he would’ve done  _ right _ by him.

"Is something wrong?" Qui-Gon asks quietly as Anakin’s eyes water a little.

"No, it’s – fine," Anakin says and wipes at his eyes. "I’m just happy that Mom might be free."

Qui-Gon rests a hand on his shoulder and together they head back to the shop.

* * *

Watto is not happy to see them, not at all. He flails in the air in anger and frustration, snapping, "Ye – ye thieves! I lost everything because of you," at their general direction. "Out, out of my shop, both of ye."

"From what I hear it’s not your shop anymore, is it," Qui-Gon comments calmly.

"It’s still my shop for another twenty hours and while it is my shop, neither of ye is nowhere near welcome here," Watto says and waves a screwdriver angrily at them. "Be gone wit you!"

Qui-Gon gives him a look while Anakin makes a face and behind Watto, Shmi wrings her hands worriedly. "Looks like hard times have hit you hard. Perhaps it will cheer you up a little to know that I’ve come to make a purchase, with wupiupi this time," Qui-Gon says and takes out a single golden coin and showing it. "I want to buy the boy’s mother."

Watto narrows his eyes and for a moment it looks like he’ll decline just to spite Qui-Gon – but money’s money, it seems, even when you hate the guy who has it. "Twenty thousand," he says spitefully. "And not a coin less, thou hear? Not a coin less!"

Qui-Gon’s expression is utterly unamused. "Five thousand," he says and puts the coin away. "And not a coin more."

Watto sputters, his wings beating air madly. "Five! Thee mad, human, mad!" he spouts and points the screwdriver at him. "I can do nineteen, maybe at a stretch, and thee is lucky I can go that low!"

Qui-Gon smiles and it looks almost predatory. "Five," he says again. "Make it five and half out of  _ pity.  _ And you’re lucky I can go so high."

Watto makes a outraged noise at that and almost drops the screwdriver. "Insanity!" he snarls. "Insanity – eighteen and half!"

It’s not so much haggling as it is shouting match and while Watto and Qui-Gon snap at each other, Anakin inches around them to get at his mother. She looks nervous, wringing her hands every time Qui-Gon gives a low number. "We got twelve," he whispers to her. "He can do it."

"Oh," she says and her shoulders slump a little. She doesn’t say anything more and neither does Anakin – out of fear of tipping Watto off – and together they watch the shouting match continue as Qui-Gon laboriously brings Watto’s price down further and further until finally they meet – at nine and half.

"No lower, i can go no lower, it can’t be done!" Watto cries. "Thee puts me in poorhouse!"

"Nine and half will do," Qui-Gon says, making a slight face. "Now let’s see about the paperwork, shall we?"

Watto gives him a suspicious look. "Does thou have nine and half thousand wupiupi, outlander?" he demands. "Show me the money, let me see it’s real, and then thou will get the paperwork!"

Qui-Gon gives him a look and then takes out a single platinum coin, throwing it to Watto who peers it over suspiciously. Then, gripping the large coin tightly, Watto turns to get the paperwork.

Anakin clutches onto his Mother’s hand tightly, letting out a slow breath. Free, he thinks. Soon, she’ll be free. Both of them, free – and with good two thousand wupiupi to spare.

"Free," Shmi whispers.

"Free," Anakin agrees and shakily they wait until the paperwork is settled, and Shmi’s ownership is transferred over to Qui-Gon – who takes takes great pleasure in going through the steps of relinquishing ownership entirely.

"Right," the Jedi says and turns to them, looking satisfied. "Let’s go see a clinic about a chip, shall we?"

* * *

Later, while they’re packing away the things at the house – which Shmi will now have to leave, as she’s no longer a slave – Qui-Gon explains everything to her while Anakin rushes about getting his things together. C-3PO is still there and in no state to travel and now he can actually get all his tools and things and parts and he needs them too.

He’s been trying not to think about it – but it’s still there, the crystal cube, hidden under his tunic, pressing against his belly. He’s going to have to build the reader for it and he’s probably going to need all his tools for it.

"I don’t know what we will do now," Shmi admits worriedly, even as she counts the money Qui-Gon is leaving with them. Two thousand and five hundred credits – it’s no fortune, but it’s enough to start with. Maybe even get a house, a small one. It would also be enough to get them out of Tatooine, though after that… what?

"Whatever you want to do, whatever you can," Qui-Gon says gently, sadly, as he looks between her stressed expression and Anakin’s attempts to wrap C-3PO in a way that won’t leave his more vulnerable parts exposed.

"Yes, I guess… I guess we will," Shmi says and then falls to sit by the kitchen table, running a shaking hand through her hair. "I didn’t think I’d ever be free," she whispers. "I haven’t dared to… to want for things for so long, I don’t know where to start."

Qui-Gon gives her a sympathetic, conflicted look and Anakin gives her a quick hug, pressing against her side. "We’ll figure it out," he says. "We’re not useless – we got skills. We’re both good mechanics and I’m a winning podracer now and everything. We’ll get work, we’ll get house, normal stuff."

"Right," Shmi says. "Right, yes – we will, won’t we," she says and runs a hand over his hair. "Yes, we’ll do that. Get a house of our own, first. Then work. Yes."

Qui-Gon says nothing, watching them for a moment and then looking away, guiltily. It makes Anakin wonder what he wanted for them – what he would’ve arranged for Shmi if Anakin was his student and they had had more time to do this right. Would’ve he already had a place for her, a job, a better life? Maybe.

"We’ll be fine," Anakin says, to the Jedi as much as to his mother. "We’ll be just fine."

"I have no doubt you will be," Qui-Gon says with a sad smile. "You will be a great young man, Anakin Skywalker, and successful in whatever avenue of life you decide to pursue from here on out. I have no doubt of that."

Anakin looks away, feeling the holocron against his belly. He knows the avenue of life he’s going to take. And yeah, Qui-Gon is right.

With or without the Jedi Order’s approval, he’s going to be the greatest Jedi who ever lived.

* * *

Qui-Gon leaves the next day on board the same ship he came on, and Anakin and Shmi both see him off. It’s funny, how much he changed their lives in such a short time, all because he wanted to take Anakin for a student. He hadn’t been able to do it in the end, but in the meanwhile he’d done the best he could for them. It’s definitely more than anyone else had done and lot more than anyone else ever would.

So much effort and money and trickery, just to free them.

"We can’t ever repay you for this," Shmi tells him quietly. "But we are very, very grateful."

"I don’t need payment," Qui-Gon says, sighing and looking at Anakin. "I’m just sorry I couldn’t do what I promised. That Anakin couldn’t become a Jedi, after all."

"You’ve still done so much more than anyone else could have," Shmi says and shakes her head, half in amazement and half in disbelief. "So much more. To be free… it’s worth everything."

"Well I’m glad I did at least something right, in that case," Qui-Gon sighs and then crouches down to look at Anakin. "Anakin," he says very seriously. "Even without training, you are still very strong in the Force. Trust your feelings, always – and beware the Darkside. You know how it works?"

"Yeah," Anakin nods. Qui-Gon had told him, after the zabrak. "I know, I won’t let myself be angry or mad or greedy. I’ll be good."

"I have no doubt you will be," Qui-Gon says, with a sort of half nostalgia of a man imagining would-bes and could’ve-beens. He takes Anakin’s hands and gives them a gentle squeeze. "Because you already  _ are. _ Don’t doubt that."

Anakin swallows and nods – and he imagines too, the life he could’ve had, would’ve had… had things worked out differently.

Then he throws his arms around Qui-Gon’s shoulders and hugs him tight. Qui-Gon’s arms are big and strong around him, and he smells like the Jedi Temple, except softer. He smells like cloth and the tea they drank in Coruscant and Anakin knows already he’s going to miss it terribly.

"I’m going to miss you," he admits quietly against Qui-Gon’s tunic. "I wish I could’ve been your Padawan. I would’ve been so good too, it’s not  _ fair _ ."

"No it isn’t," Qui-Gon agrees and his voice is a little rough. "But you can still be good. Just remember what I told you and stay with the Light, and you will be alright," he says and pulls back a little, squeezing Anakin’s shoulders gently. "And I will miss you too, Anakin Skywalker."

Anakin nods and sniffles and pulls back. Qui-Gon gives him a sad smile and stands up. "Time for me to go," he says and looks between them. "I wish you both all the best."

"Same to you, master Jedi," Shmi says, smiling painfully. "And thank you. Thank you so much."

"Yeah, thank you," Anakin says and quickly wipes at his eyes. "Thank you.  _ Thank you _ ."  _ And sorry, _ he add’s silently and rests a hand against his belly, where the holocron sits.

Qui-Gon smiles at him and nods. "Goodbye, Anakin," he says. "And remember, the Force will be with you, always."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some allusions to prostitution of slaves of undetermined but fairly young age in this chapter. And also a sex toy.

It takes Anakin months to build a reader capable of actually accessing the information stored in the holocron. In that time, lot of changes – and lot of don't.

They get a house not that far from their old one on the Slave Quarter Row – in the same district, in fact. It's a little bigger than their old one, the ceiling is a little higher, and the air-conditioning actually works, but aside from that it much the same as their old house – the same pourstone that's used pretty much everywhere, even the house design is lot similar. But this time, it's theirs – if only because they rented it and paid for it, rather than Watto their master. And due to it's proximity to the Slave Quarters, it's cheap as sin.

"Yeah, this will do," Shmi says seeing it for the first time, and they pay the first rent that very day before starting to move in their things – first alone and then with the help of neighbours who hear about their freedom with wide eyes and astonished expressions.

"But he didn't take you with him?" Their former next door neighbour, an elderly togruta named Enlanna asks dubiously. "Why not?"

Shmi shakes her head and Anakin looks away. "We only know our way around here – out there… everything is more expensive," Shmi says rather fatalistically. "I don't think he thought we would've been able to make it, in the Republic, with what little we have because free or not, we don't have much."

Yet, Anakin thinks privately.

"Still, strange thing to do, to free a woman and her son but then just leave it at that," Enlanna mutters and hauls up the box holding Shmi's sonic welder. "But you never know with Jedi. Strange folk, I hear."

"Very much so, yes," Shmi laughs.

Enlanna isn't the only one to help – the whole thing spreads out quickly in the Slave Quarters and before long the whole district seems to know. Of course it's not that unusual that a slave gets freed – though usually it's because A, owner is taking a slave to more legal side of the galaxy and turns them into indentured servant instead, B, someone takes fancy to the slave and frees them to make their spouse or, C, slave somehow earns enough money to buy themselves out of slavery. To buy a slave, free them and then just leave it at that, it's odd.

So, they're for a moment the celebrities of the Slave Quarters of Mos Espa, and everyone comes around to ask about the whole thing. "I thought it was the winnings from Boonta, you made it big in the races, right," someone says and another asks, "And he didn't even suggest you work for him?" and third wonders, "But you're still young; you could've given him a child or two, couldn't you?"

In the end it's decided that Jedi work in mysterious ways, and maybe the whole thing was a sort of pay back for Anakin winning Qui-Gon the ship parts he needed in the Boonta Race. Still, more and more people wander around to ask, more slaves come to exhibit both their relief at their sake – and their jealousy.

If nothing else, it means more people carry their stuff from the old house to the new one. Kitster comes around too, helping Anakin carry C-3PO to the new house.

"Do you think you're going to run the races again, now that you're free?" the other boy asks curiously.

"I don't have the pod anymore, we sold it," Anakin admits and shrugs. "I don't know. The money's good, but mom doesn't like it."

"Indeed I don't," she says flatly, walking past them with a metal staff across her shoulders and a box of things hanging from either end of it. "We'll be making our own money from here on out – and none of it will come from terrible death defying stunts."

"But I'm good at terrible death defying stunts!" Anakin complains, though it's half hearted at best.

"Maybe, once you're about ten years older, we can talk about this again," Shmi says. "Chop chop, get a move on now."

So the moving to the new house isn't too bad, with all the curious gawkers there to help – and thankfully no one dislikes them enough to try and steal from them, not that they have that much to steal anyway. Shmi has all the money held safely in her tunic and even the sonic welder, their most valuable possession to date after the racing pod, isn't worth that much. So most everything gets to the new house alright, and they get to setting up their new lives right away.

The next say, Shmi goes looking for work, any work. They still have plenty of wupiupi left over, of course – the rent of the house is barely hundred wupiupi a month thanks to the location, so they have enough to manage for few months comfortably… but Anakin's mother doesn't want to rely on it. The weirdest thing, though, she forbids him from looking for work.

"But mom, I'm good worker. I'm a good mechanic, better than you when it comes to small stuff," Anakin says, confused. "I can get work – I can repair moisture vaporators just as well as you can!"

"Anakin, no," Shmi starts and then considers him for a moment, his confusion. Sighing, she kneels down in front of him. "We're not slaves anymore," she says. "Freemen have different rules and different luxuries they get to enjoy. And you're only nine – still a child. And freemen children don't have to work for their living and their keep – their parents do it for them."

"But I'm good at working?" Anakin asks, even more confused. "I can bring in money too."

"Yes, you could – but you don't _have_ to," Shmi says gently and grasps him by the shoulders and giving him a gentle squeeze. "Do you understand? This time of your life, these years – they're free now. You're free to do whatever you like. Play with your droids, build things, play! One day, yes, you will have to work and make a living. But not right now, not anymore."

"But you'll be looking for work, and isn't that unfair, that you work and I don't?" Anakin asks, guilty and plaintive.

"It's a mother's duty and privilege to provide for her child," Shmi says firmly and proudly. "And don't worry about it – we can do with very little, you know. I won't have to work the sort of hours we worked with Watto. Not anymore."

So she goes out looking for work while Anakin is left behind at the house to do, apparently… whatever he wants. It's beyond bewildering, to suddenly have a whole day just to himself. He hadn't had that ever, not even after Qui-Gon had freed him, not with the Naboo and then Coruscant and the Jedi Order and everything – he had never had just… all the time to do what ever.

It makes him feel guilty at first, just to sit around and not… work. It makes him feel useless and vaguely nauseous the way it used to make him feel before Watto had anything for him to do, and was giving him those looks, the considering looks, wondering if he was worth the upkeep. It makes him feel like he's not contributing.

But his mother is adamant about it – this is how it is for freemen. Children are meant to be _children_ , not workers. Childhood was meant to mean freedom, not toil and labour. And she's twice as adamant about him doing what _he wants to do_ , and not what he thinks he needs to do to provide for his upkeep. His upkeep doesn't hang on the balance with his usefulness holding it up anymore.

Now, his upkeep was his mother's duty, and it's one she takes up with ferocious pride that doesn't make sense to Anakin at first. Then she comes back from her first week of working at a small garage where they service speeders and such, with her first pay firmly in grasp – and new set of clothes for Anakin, still cheap but _brand_ _new_.

And she is _so proud_ when Anakin shrugs off his patched-a-thousand-times tunic and kicks off his worn down boots and pulls on these new things instead. She's almost radiant with _glee_ of seeing him in new, whole clothing… and then it starts making a little more sense.

"You look so handsome!" Shmi gushes and hugs him tight and runs shaking hands over his hair. "You look so good, Anakin! And everything fits just right too, doesn't it? Oh this is wonderful!"

What he looks like is _not like a slave_. And it means the world to her.

So Anakin stops feeling guilty about not contributing and instead resigns himself to being cared for instead. And okay, he still feels a bit guilty about it, especially since she doesn't get new clothes for herself, just for him, but… it makes her happy in a way he's never seen her be, just being able to _give him_ something, so…

He starts working on the reader for the holocron crystal cube instead. He does it in secret at first, keeping the whole thing from his mother, knowing she wouldn't approve what he'd done… but in the end the damn thing turns out to be impossible to figure out. He doesn't really know how the cube works and knowing that it was read with a light based reading device doesn't really help. How the Jedi even came up with the whole thing? He's heard of crystal disks and drives used by some species out there, but the crystal cube thing, that's completely alien to him.

And in the end, he's forced to admit he has no idea where to even start with building a reader for it, and has to admit the whole thing to his mother.

"Anakin," she whispers, hand on her chest, looking a little faint. "You did what?"

"Well," Anakin says and then sets the cube down on the table between them. He can't really come up with a justification. He'd stolen a probably priceless artefact, and what was probably centuries worth of Jedi knowledge, because… he felt it was owed to him? It's kind of flimsy excuse now, especially after everything Qui-Gon did for them. "You've always said knowledge should be shared – and really, that's how we got new things into the network at the Row anyway. All of that stuff was stolen too, wasn't it?"

Shmi opens her mouth and then closes it, frowning a little. She can't deny it because it's true – every bit of information, every thread of knowledge the slaves of the Row shared, it was stolen from their masters' various computers and databases. Once, one slave had even gotten a momentary access to the holonet itself, just for little while, and had downloaded every bit of medicinal knowledge she could from it. She'd been beaten so bad she'd almost lost an eye after, but later the medical knowledge she'd stolen saved another slave's life – and many more since.

Dinah had been the Queen of the Quarter Row for months afterwards – she's the manager of the network now, the go-to-person for anything more specific and difficult to get you might need in the Row. Like, say, good exchange rates for datarians to wupiupi.

This isn't like the medical stuff, though. Jedi knowledge probably isn't going to change the lives of slaves for the better – it's not medicine or repair or technical know how, it's just Jedi arts and those aren't useful in everyday life… probably.

Anakin still can't bring himself to feel _that_ guilty about stealing it. It's not like the Jedi didn't also keep the knowledge, after all – it's not like he deleted it from their archives. He just took a copy.

"Anyway, I got it now and it's not like I can just give it back," Anakin says. "Like this is no use to anyone though – I need to figure out how to read it."

Shmi takes a steadying breath and then reaches out to touch the cube. She frowns a little, her fingers withdrawing for a moment as if she'd been zapped by static electricity. Then, slower, she touches the holocron again. "That is… " she murmurs, her eyes going a little distant.

Anakin stares at her and then knows – she can feel it too. She can _see_ into the holocron.

His mother has the Force.

"Oh," Anakin says and sits up straighter, staring at her. "Oh!"

"What?" Shmi asks, blinking away whatever she'd seen in the holocron and turning her eyes to him. "What is it?"

"You – you did a Jedi thing! At least I think it's a Jedi thing. A Force thing anyway. You saw into the crystal cube, right?" Anakin asks, almost vibrating off his seat. "I think – I think it's Force. You have the Force – we _both_ have the Force!"

Shmi stares at him in astonishment for a moment, her mouth falling a little open. Then she looks at the cube again. "That was the Force?" she asks faintly.

"No – well, maybe, but no, the Force is…" Anakin trails off, trying to remember what Qui-Gon had said about. "The Force is like this energy field that binds the galaxy together – I use it when I pod race and stuff, the Force tells me what to do when and stuff. And I think looking into the holocron, that's something only Jedi can do – or people with Force, anyway."

Shmi's fingers curl away from the holocron and for a moment she looks troubled as she looks between him and the holocron. "I see," she says quietly and then runs a hand over her hair, looking conflicted. "And this cube you stole, it was read by some sort of light reader?"

"Yeah, there was a beam of light shooting up to it from the table when I downloaded the data," Anakin says. "And with how much stuff went into it, it had to be happening at light speed. Photon reader, of some kind."

"Hmm," Shmi says and leans back in her chair, considering the cube. "That will be… very difficult to construct," she says thoughtfully. "We'll need a beam emitter, and chances are the exact angle and refraction of the light beam is important… it will be very tricky to get that right."

"But you'll help me?" Anakin asks excitedly.

Shmi looks at him and then sighs. "Yes," she says and frowns at the cube. "I think I must. But Anakin, this… this is…" she trails away. "You cannot tell _anyone_ about this. Not even Kitster. You have stolen Jedi knowledge, who knows how much of it, it's… it will be worth more than our lives, if people find out about it."

Anakin instantly becomes serious. He reaches to take the cube, turning it in his fingers. It almost makes him loose himself in its endless folds again, but he keeps his senses away from it. "People might kill us to get this?"

"If they knew we had it… yes, in a heart beat," Shmi says worriedly.

Anakin frowns a little. "I… kind of wanted to share it with the Quarter Row," he admits. "After I had my chance to learn from it. Knowledge should be shared."

Shmi makes a face at that and runs a hand over her chin worriedly. "Yes, it should, but this… it would have to be done very carefully. We'll… see about it later, once we can read it, alright? For now let's concentrate onto the reader. What do you remember about how it worked?"

Anakin tells her everything he remembers and she quickly gets out a wide sheet of flimsyplast to write it all down and sketch it out. Anakin gets a stylus as well and sketches out what he's figured out about how the holocron works – the dimensional matrix within it, and how it functions. He still doesn't know much, his few _visions_ of the thing have been more feeling than actual fact, but between them they get a rough idea of how the thing works.

Refractions and reflections in crystal layers, folding the data into itself – that's how you can fit so much data into such a small space. If you can call a fist sized cube _small_.

"Alright," Shmi says, considering their sketches. "Looks like we're going parts hunting."

"Yes!" Anakin punches the air.

* * *

 

Four months, dozens of forays into various junk yards, days of hunting down Jawa sand crawlers out of the faint hope they might have what they need, and one near fistfight with old twi-lek who wanted the crystal Anakin wanted to buy for the reader for her necklace, and they have something of a reader for the holocron.

It's nothing like the terminal in the Jedi Temple – their reader is an ugly monstrosity of wires and pipes and beaming lights, the holocron held aloft in a frame with an articulated arm for the beam emitter so that it can search out the precise angle to read the holocron at. It takes them nearly a week to calibrate it just right to get the infinitesimal precision required to read the holocron just right.

Then it turns out that searching the holocron is impossible. Not just hard – _impossible_.

There is no directory within it – Anakin didn't exactly copy down the handy dandy search system of the Temple computers, just the files. Millions of files which are now stored in the cube with no rhyme or reason as to their organisation – they in fact _have_ no organisation.

"If we copy it all to another storage device maybe…" Anakin offers.

"There is nothing big enough to hold this all," Shmi says, considering what readouts they're getting – file about healing trances, report from some Jedi mission from hundreds of years ago, the personal file of this master who'd died twenty years ago, another mission report… it's all without order. "We'd need hundreds of data disks, it would cost more than… more than we're likely earn in a lifetime."

Anakin folds his arms and stares at the jury-rigged reader, wishing he could just force it to work how he wants it to. It's starting to make sense now why Jedi keep their files on data disks, rather than on holocrons seeing as they are so much bigger on the inside. They store data – but they're definitely not computers. They're not really even part of a computer system.

"There as to be some way to make use of this, though," Anakin says. "Otherwise why would the Jedi even use them? There was a display about how they're made and everything – you don't do that for something you don't use, right?"

"Hmm," Shmi answers, folding her arms and considering what they'd made. "Perhaps they're not actually meant to be attached to computer systems. We can see into the cube with the Force, maybe… maybe that's how it's meant to be read, with the Force."

"But we can't read it that way either," Anakin points out. The best they can do is see the matrix and sort of glean the knowledge held within it, but they can't actually… access it.

Shmi taps her arm with her fingers, thinking about it. "We're missing something."

"Yeah, a big old Jedi computer," Anakin sighs and falls to is down on a kitchen chair, staring at the cube. He for a _feeling_ from the Force when he needed the thing, it would be nice if the Force would give him another feeling about how to use the thing… but it doesn't. "Do you think we really have to go through everything manually, file by file?" he asks worriedly. "That will take ages."

"It would take our lifetimes," Shmi agrees, sounding just as worried. "Perhaps an external sorting system, but without the ability to search within the holocron… and with so many files, so many of them probably unnecessary to us, we'd need some way of sort out the more important things out of the unnecessary, and that makes the lack of a sorting system even worse," she shakes her head and sits down too. "I think without a proper file structure and search function, we really do need to go through everything manually. I think we can program the more important files down by their physical location with the reader, but…"

"But we need to find them first," Anakin finishes, making a face. "And that will take ages."

"Yes," Shmi says with a sigh. "But unless we think of something else… I think it might be the best we can do for now."

"Right," Anakin says. "Better get to it, then."

* * *

 

For about a week, Anakin spends every waking moment looking through what little they can glean of the holocron. He discards mission files when he runs into them and personal files of various Jedi, and then quickly learns to discard off hand mentions of them in historical files and stuff like news articles and reports… and personal essays… there's whole swathe of Jedi poetry he at first reads through thinking they might be Jedi wisdoms but can't really make head or tail off…

In the end, after a whole week he's gotten his hands only on two somewhat interesting files. One is instruction forms to a lightsaber combat form named Makashi, and another is one of the earliest files they found, about healing trance, but even that is about more advanced forms of healing trance and not about what healing trance _actually is_.

"This is impossible," Anakin mutters, trying to glean through another sea of useless files – something about tea, a file about Jedi fashions over the years, mention of Jedi in some news report again, an essay about a portion of galactic law concerning the Jedi… And he's still only skimmed the surface of what the holocron has to offer – week and he's not even made it to thousand files so far. Not even thousand – and there's still millions of files left.

This is not how he imagined his future of self taught Jedi-hood to go. And if he has to spend another moment looking through useless files about how some Jedi years ago negotiated a trade deal or whatever, he's going to lose his mind.

There _has_ to be a better way to utilise the holocron. Some other way of searching it. His mom is probably right – the cube isn't designed to be attached to a computer system, but with so much space, such efficient data storage, it had to be readable _somehow_. The Jedi had to do it somehow.

If only he'd run into a file about holocron usage – but of course, those are one of the many important files that refuses to show up in his laborious file-by-file search.

What he needs is an automatic… thing to look through every file, faster than he can. System that's smart enough to know what's important and what isn't. System that can then mark the important things down for later read.

What he needs… is a droid.

"Oh," Anakin murmurs and leans back and away from the screen he'd been straining his eyes on. "Oh, yeah… that would do it, huh?"

A droid could look through the files at fraction of the time it would take a human to do the same. Give it parameters about what is and isn't important and it could probably go through the holocron in matter of days – as opposed to the _lifetimes_ it would take Anakin to do the same. It could even read through the files and then display the important bits without Anakin having to ever bother with –

Anakin stops and stares at nothing for a moment as his mind hops over few steps and straight into a conclusion.

"Mom!" he shouts towards her bedroom. "Mom, I have an _idea_!"

* * *

 

They'd started building C-3PO together years ago. Anakin doesn't remember where he got the idea from – probably some offhand comment from his mother lamenting about how she _needs a droid to do all the chores around here_ and then he got obsessed into making that comment into reality.

For months they'd looked for parts. Thankfully, they were pretty easy to find cheaply – Protocol droids were dime a dozen and they broke fairly easily, so most every junkyard out there had a limb or a head just lying around. Some of the parts they got for free, their previous owners just happy to get rid of the clutter, others they had to pay for – and over the months, they eventually had more or less everything they needed.

Bit by bit, part by part, C-3PO was then constructed in Anakin's bedroom in quiet nights after work at Watto's shop, with Shmi helping Anakin at first but then Anakin quickly outpacing her with his understanding over the minuscule details of droid construction. She was a more engine sort of mechanic – but Anakin, Anakin swam the waters of intricate circuitry like he was born to it.

By luck, one of the parts they got was a core processor with enough data saved to cobble together a proper, _legal_ droid programming, and so C-3PO was born, and came online while still missing an arm, most of his sensors and with only one eye. It had been, until the podrace, Anakin's best, proudest accomplishment.

Anakin had been rather neglectful about poor C-3PO – in order to make the holocron reader, there hadn't been much time for anything else and so C-3PO is still all uncovered, parts showing, movements janky. Now Anakin turns to him somewhat thoughtfully, considering C-3PO and what actually made him… him.

C-3PO hadn't really been made out of nothing – they'd followed the instructions and patterns of your usual protocol droid, using the parts of other protocol droids, so C-3PO was more a puzzle made of other droids than something Anakin had _invented_. But in making him, he'd learned a lot about droids and how they work – and how to put them together.

"Master Ani? Mistress Shmi?" C-3PO asks, worried. "Is something the matter?"

Anakin glances at his mother who hums thoughtfully, folding her arms. They consider him for a moment, both thinking about C-3PO's programming. It's… pretty good as far as Anakin can tell, basic protocol droid code. Thing about protocol droids is that they're designed to be subservient – Anakin hadn't been able to remove that part of the programming without dismantling the core protocols entirely and thus destroying the whole basis of C-3PO's personality. That pre-programmed subservience, though…

If someone claims proper ownership of C-3PO, he will become loyal to them. Stealing him, threatening him, selling him, it would be enough to shift his loyalties to a new master. It's what makes protocol droids so commonly used – they're easy to make and their ownership is easy to transfer. What it doesn't make them, though… is trustworthy.

"No, C-3PO, nothing's wrong," Anakin says and looks at his Mom. "I think we need to make a new one," he says. He can't use C-3PO for this. They need something… more robust.

"It think you're right," Shmi agrees thoughtfully, looking at the protocol droid. "But humanoid droid would still be the best option."

"There are other types of humanoid droids, though. Like the battle droids I saw in Naboo," Anakin says, thinking about it and then going for the flimsyplast and the stylus, quickly sketching out what he'd figured out about the battle droids. "They're pretty simply, actually, as far as the framework goes. They had better movement range than C-3PO too – no offence meant, buddy."

"None taken, Master Ani, I assure you."

"Hmm," Shmi hums and watches him sketch out the basic form of a Trade Federation battle droid. "A droid like this in Tatooine would draw attention," she then says worriedly and glances up at C-3PO, eyes narrowed a little in thought. Protocol droids themselves weren't that common either.

Anakin hesitates and then folds his arms, scowling. Drawing attention is always a bit bad, in Tatooine, especially when you do it with a _thing_ that can be stolen. Like a droid. Droids are stolen _all the time_ in Tatooine.

If they put the holocron in a droid and then that droid is stolen… Well, that would be that, then.

"We could just keep it inside," Anakin says, but somewhat dubiously. "Nothing says it ever needs to go outside. Hell it doesn't even need to be humanoid at all, and astromech would probably do the trick too, and they're little less likely to get stolen than protocol droids." That's kind of lame though…

"Maybe…" Shmi trails away and turns to the datapad where they'd transferred the two useful files they'd ran into in the holocron's sea of files. She opens the one on Makashi, and considers it. "Jedi do combat, yes?"

"Lot of it," Anakin says emphatically, thinking about Qui-Gon and the zabrak – it had been in equal parts awe-striking and terrifying to witness. "There were like thousands of files on lightsaber combat forms, probably tens of thousands."

Shmi nods, frowning as she eyes the file, scrolling through the poses shown there. "Hopefully it's not something you'd ever will need… but I can't say I'd mind you knowing how to defend yourself," she comments and lowers the datapad, folding her arms in stead and thinking about it hard. "I don't think an astromech will do. Some of these lessons, they will only work with demonstration."

"Yeah, it needs to be humanoid. And one with better movement than protocol droid," Anakin says and leans in a bit. "Do you think we could mix and match a little, throw together bit of protocol droid, bit of battle droid, bit of this and that?" He's pretty sure he can make a droid with better movement, thanks to what he'd learned from C-3PO.

Shmi doesn't answer for a long while, staring at middle distance almost blindly as she thinks about something. "I think…" she starts and frowns a little, looking a little disturbed. "I think… we need to disguise it."

"Mom?" Anakin asks, confused.

"A droid is easy to steal. If we put the holocron into a droid, it… it becomes very vulnerable," Shmi says slowly. "But if people can't tell it's a droid…"

Anakin arches an eyebrow. "You mean… like make it look like a human? Like an _android_?"

"Yes," Shmi says, frowning even deeper and looking rather worried about what she's saying.

"I'm… pretty sure that's illegal," Anakin says, a little amazed by her now. No, droids that pass for people, that's _definitely_ illegal.

"I'm aware," she says and then lets out a little, almost hysterical scoff. "This is very illegal anyway. Stolen Jedi knowledge, Anakin! That is _beyond_ illegal."

They share a look and then burst into a sheepish, nervous laughter.

Then… then they get to work.

* * *

 

How the word of their project leaks out, Anakin doesn't know, but it does. In the Slave Quarters, secrets didn't stay secrets very long – and as far as the other slaves are concerned, Shmi and Anakin are still _their people_. They still live in the district after all, and Shmi and Anakin still pop into the Row to visit friends and do minor maintenance on various gadgets and systems – Anakin handles lot of the network maintenance on his own, because he's still small enough to easily fit into the maintenance ducks under the Quarter Row.

So, when the word gets out that the Skywalkers are making something _little bit_ illegal, the word spreads fast – and people get curious. Dinah, the manager of the network and one of the unspoken leaders of the Slave Quarters, is the first one to question them about it.

"And android?" Dinah asks, stirring the caff Shmi had made for her while Anakin nervously waits by the door to his bedroom – which is now completely dominated by droid parts. "Now why would you be building an _android_ for?"

Shmi hesitates for a moment and then sits down across the middle aged twi-lek woman. "Anakin needs a teacher," she says then. "We don't have the money for any sorts of lessons, but with cheap parts we can cobble together a droid, easy enough. But teacher droids are… valuable," she says and shakes her head. "If we make one that looks human, passes for a human, it's… little less likely to be snatched up by any old Jawa the moment it's left alone."

Dinah arches her eyebrows at Shmi and then looks up at Anakin. "A teacher?" she repeats. "Just to have a teacher droid, you're prepared to break all sorts of republic laws."

"Well, slavery is against Republic law too and they don't give a bantha's butt about what's happening here, so see if I care what they think of me," Anakin harrumphs and marches up to the table, folding his arms. "I want to learn stuff about… about all sorts of things, but you can learn only so much alone. Everything is easier with someone to actually show you."

Dinah looks between them thoughtfully, her yellow eyes narrowed. "Hmm," she says then and sips the caff, still staring at Anakin. Then she looks at Shmi, who tries not to squirm too bad.

It's kind of funny – but also not – that Dinah can still make them both nervous. She's still a slave and they're not anymore, but… she's still Dinah. And Dinah had always been a little bit scary.

Anakin thinks she was probably a dancer when she was younger. He's been to her house doing some repair to her cooling unit, and she has this belt of coins dancers use in display which she sometimes looks with sort of disgusted nostalgia. But, like all young women who were pretty, she'd been used hard and eventually… she'd grown too old to be displayed.

Now she's owned by a cantina where she mixes drinks and sometimes sings, her throaty voice growing quickly hoarse in Tatooine's every dry air, but it's still one hell of a sound. And so is Dinah, when she gets the mood to be mean.

Part of the reason why the Quarter Row network is still a thing is because Dinah fought nail and tooth to keep it secret and safe. She doesn't know terribly much about the actual mechanical management of the thing – but she knows the social management of it, and she manages the hell out of it too, making sure people use it properly and don't spread the word of it around. That gives her a lot of power.

Even if Shmi and Anakin are free people now, if Dinah decides they're not making their android, then they probably wouldn't have much luck succeeding.

"What kind of things are you hoping to learn?" Dinah asks, looking between Shmi and Anakin.

They share a look. His mom had said that at this point spreading any word around what they have wouldn't be safe, the Jedi knowledge is so valuable that it would go beyond people's capacity to be honourable and united. It would be enough to buy freedoms, after all.

So Anakin bites his lip and Shmi answers. "While Anakin was away, he got access to some data about self defence," she says and lifts her chin. "Anakin is a prodigy – he's smarter than the rest of us combined. While he was Watto's slave he was relatively safe, but we're free people now, and free people can be kidnapped, enslaved, and sold. And I refuse to let that happen to him, if I can do anything to stop it."

Dinah blinks slowly at that and then leans back against the backrest of her chair, looking at Anakin. Anakin looks down at the table, feeling a little awkward.

He's not exactly oblivious to it. He is… quicker to learn stuff than other kids his age are. It's not like any of his friends can put together a droid or a racing pod or actually _race_ , or anything like that. He'd never been valued – when he'd been sold to Watto, his cost had been added to Shmi's, as he'd been too young to work back then. But if he was evaluated now, as a slave – after pod racing…

He'd be worth more than his mom, probably – and that would only climb up higher, if he now learned more stuff. And that was even without the Force Sensitivity getting into it. Force Sensitive slaves, they're in a category all on their own.

"I see," Dinah says, running her sharp nailed fingers over her blue lips. "Tell me about this android, what are you planning to make it like?"

They hadn't actually made that many plans yet – Anakin is still figuring out the framework. He's using a protocol droid as a base to launch from, but he can't use most of the parts – the joints are all too weak, and protocol droids are slow and clumsy. This droid would have to be battle capable and _agile_. It's taking some time just trying to design it – he hasn't even started putting parts together.

"We thought to make it a man," Shmi says slowly – male human aren't popular slaves, "Maybe slightly elderly? We're not sure yet – we're still only in the process of designing it."

"Hmm," Dinah answers, thoughtful. "Make him a little young – middle aged maybe," she says. "A middle aged man visiting the Row won't call too much attention to himself."

Anakin arches an eyebrow and then looks up to his mother. Dinah means to have the droid visit the Quarter Row? "You… oh, right, of course," Shmi says a little nervously. "If we succeed then of course we'd be happy to have the droid teach others too. But it might take some time, we're only starting out."

"You'll have help," Dinah says and gives them a serious look. "It's something we've missed dearly in the Row, you know. A teacher. We had one once, dear old Kara, used to be a nurse and taught her Master's kids, but she's no longer with us… "

"I remember her," Shmi murmurs. "She taught me to read and write."

Dinah nods. "We teach ourselves now, we teach our kids, but… a teacher is a different thing," she says. "And a teacher that could teach us how to _fight_ … now that, that would be something."

Anakin swallows, fiddling with his fingers and then hiding his hands under the table to keep his nervous twitch hidden. Dinah's voice is almost reverent; it's a little scary because he can almost see what she's thinking. One step closer. One step closer to freedom.

One step closer to _rebellion_.

He'd gotten the holocron mostly for himself, so that he could be Jedi regardless of what the Council thought, but he'd always kind of figured he'd eventually give it to the Slave Quarter Row Network. Then his mother had explained just how valuable it might be – because Jedi knowledge is not just withheld, it's _sacred_ and that makes it worth a lot. But this…

Anakin glances at his mother, who is looking down to her cup of caff. "We will do our best," she then says. "And any help would be appreciated."

Dinah nods very firmly. "I'll see that you'll get it."

* * *

 

It still takes Anakin and Shmi a while to figure out the proper framework. The droid still needs to be robust and strong and agile but it also needs to pass for human after all – so it's not just matter of better movement, but also posture, more humanoid gestures, stuff like that.

Now though, now they have help.

Every day, a slave or two will pop in to ask if they need anything, bringing them droid parts and sometimes posing for Anakin and Shmi as they work their way through taking protocol droid anatomy and making it more… relaxed. And they will always ask, "When is it going to be finished?"

"Eventually," Shmi and Anakin answer and keep on working.

The android is becoming something of a _thing_ in the district. The new about it spreads quickly with Dinah's urging until most everyone knows about it. The Skywalker's are making a teacher, and everyone seems to hold their breaths in anticipation. It's weird, how eagerly people look forward to it, but at the same time… it isn't.

Teachers and lessons, they're things freemen get, not slaves. For them to be building a secret teacher just for slaves, that's something special. It almost makes Anakin feel a bit guilty because it's not really for slaves – it's for the holocron and for him and his mom too – but at the same time… why can't it be both?

The android might one day teach him and his mother Jedi arts but they're neither of them actual Jedi. And in Slave Quarters, knowledge is shared because _knowledge is strength_.

"Knowledge is Strength," Anakin mutters determinedly, and works harder.

Six months after Qui-Gon had freed Shmi; they begin building the body, joint by joint. It's mostly Anakin doing the work since Shmi is working nine hours a day at the garage, but he sometimes has one or two others helping him with the construction, and if most other slaves don't know much about circuitry, they can at least hand him things. And they're all eager to take part in the construction.

The android has become _their_ thing now – it's still mostly Anakin's since he's doing most of the work, but it's also everyone's in a weird way. Everyone wants to help make it, to feel part of it, to just be able to say, _I was part of making this into reality_. It's kind of neat, Anakin decides – because it's easier to do that than to get all jealous about having _his_ project hijacked like this.

Still, mostly he prefers working alone. That's what he's doing right now too, working on the droid's spine – because at his level of articulation, he needs a flexible torso – when couple of slaves pop in carrying with them a head in a sack.

"What the kriffin _hell_?!" Anakin yelps in horror and jumps back as the two girls happily slap the head down right in front of him, smack in the middle of his mother's kitchen table. It's a man's head, he thinks wildly, they killed some guy, they –

Then it dawns on him that the thing isn't bleeding.

"W-what?" Anakin asks, looking up to the girls in quickly mounting dread.

They're both older than him and _very_ pretty. One of them is a mirialan with diamonds tattooed over her cheeks, the other is a human girl with her blonde hair done up in crown of braids. Both are slaves – though they don't live in the Quarter Row, he thinks… probably because they live in one of Mos Espa's many brothels instead.

"Meet OB," the human girl says and pats the severed head's messy hair, while the other girl hauls up a sack of body parts – except they're not part of a living body. Now that Anakin looks, he can see the body hasn't actually been dismembered by a saw or anything – and there's metal in the joints, it's…

"A droid?" Anakin asks slowly. "But androids are –"

"It's not really a droid or android or anything like that," the mirialan girl giggles. "It's, ah… something maybe your mom should explain at later day."

"It was once being used at the House, but it kind of broke apart few years back and it's been in storage since then," the human girl says and folds her arms. "We've been complaining about it non-stop for about month, how it's creepy and giving us all nightmares and the Madame finally let us throw it out."

She looks very proud of herself as she says it.

Anakin arches his eyebrows at that and then looks at the head. It looks creepily like a human – he can even see the pores of the skin, and there's beauty mark about the right eye and everything. A little unease he reaches out to touch the skin the severed head's cheek and it feels human too – except for the temperature. It doesn't have any.

It still looks like actual severed human head, it's that well made. But when he tilts it back carefully, he can see the connections of the neck, the metal spine, where it's been detached. Quickly he reaches out to inspect the other parts too – there's arms, legs, torso with a neck and… other parts too. Some of it looks little worn and broken and none of the limbs had much in way of articulation – they barely have any functional movement at all. It's really not a droid – there is no processor, no memory core, nothing. It was never a thinking machine. It kind of looks like the only purpose of the thing is to… just look human.

It's no that difficult to figure out what it was made for, just going by how lifelike it is.

"So, do you think you can use our friend here?" the mirialan girl asks, looking eager.

Anakin turns to the head and peers into the neck again, before finding a latch inside it. Its jaw comes off, which is… kind a creepy, but it gives him a good view of the internal mechanisms of the facial structures. The thing couldn't move its arms – but it could produce facial expressions. Of course it could.

"Yeah," Anakin says. It's probably little beneath the Jedi knowledge and all that, but… it's damn good simile of a human. Definitely better than anything they could've managed to make from some vat of synthetic skin or whatever. This thing is so well made it looks _alive_ even when it's all blown apart. And really… it's not like many slaves can boast any better beginnings. It's kind of fitting, even.

"Yeah," Anakin repeats with satisfaction. "I think we can use this, yeah."

The two slave girls grin and slap their hands together victoriously. "You might want to change the looks somewhat," the human girl then says and lets out a little snicker. "It's kinda well known in certain circles."

"You don't say," Anakin answers wryly and fits the jaw back in before examining the joint there. "Is anyone going to miss it?"

"As far as anyone knows, it's already been recycled. No one's gonna come looking for it," the mirialan girl winks and the girls turn to leave. "Hope you put it to good use!"

Then they leave him alone with parts of a broken sex doll. Great, Anakin thinks, and hopes that they'd cleaned the thing before they brought it in. The head at least was clean, but as for the rest… he doesn't really feel like checking.

It makes him feel a little better about the whole thing that his mom freaks out about the whole thing even worse than he did, though.

* * *

 

Eight months, and the android is finished. Shmi does last check ups on the joints and fingers while Anakin carefully inserts the holocron into it's chest, where it slots into the holster he made for it, surrounded by beam emitters on ring frames. After checking that everything fits where it should, Anakin slowly activates the reader and watches the rings around the holocron's holster begin to slowly spin, the beam emitters easing into their places, ready to begin reading the holocron's data.

Gently, Anakin closes the chassis and then eases the synthetic skin over it.

There's still lot of work to be done for the android. It needs a make over for one – the matted blond hair has to go, and Shmi thinks beard might be a good way to cover up any familiarity anyone might have with the features, as well as the joint of the jaw where the edges of skin meet. There's also matter of hands and joints – because the skin hadn't exactly been designed for repeated articulation, it had already torn a bit in testing and so they'd been forced to cover joints in cloth instead, to keep the skin from tearing further. On longer planes, like chest, shoulders, arms and lower arms, it's fine, but where ever the skin needs to bend or stretch…

They will probably have to cloth the thing from neck to toe – and they'd already foregone adding skin to the hands, covering the skeletal fingers with black gloves instead. It's just easier that way.

"Here," Shmi says and hands him a memory card – the one holding the programming. Anakin flips it over and then moves a bit of skin at the android's lower neck aside, to reveal the card slot. It slips in easily and they wait until the android finishes downloading it's rather bastardised programming.

Sadly, they couldn't get their hands on proper teacher protocols – those were too expensive to even steal. In the end they'd compromised by throwing together cheaper _personal training_ and _personal assistant_ protocols, with some adjustments made by Shmi who wanted to add in some limitations and restrictions. To make sure the android wouldn't give itself to the authorities as an illegal construction… they couldn't include _any_ of the Droid or AI Laws to its core programming, after all.

All they could hope now is that it would be good enough.

Anakin holds his breath and once the download finishes, and then looks up to his mother. Shmi hesitates, wringing the hem of her shirt before nodding. Anakin takes a breath and then activates the android. They'd carefully tried to program out jerky movements and make everything more fluid and natural, so as the android wakes up, it does so slowly and smoothly, blinking it's very human eyes and lifting it's very human head.

"Hello?" the android says, confused, his accent soft Coruscanti, just like Anakin wanted. The android looks up at them and blinks again. "Well, hello there. Now who are you?"

It works. _He_ works. It's still left to be seen how well he works and whether he can actually read the holocron but for now… _he_ _works_.

Anakin grins. "I'm Anakin Skywalker and this is my mother, Shmi," he says. "Welcome to Tatooine… OB-1."


	3. Chapter 3

OB-1's movement is a little awkward at first – hesitant. While his body is nowhere near as clumsy as that of a protocol droid, or as abrupt as what Anakin imagines battle droids are like, it's still a little robotic at first. Since his body isn't a common, mass produced model like C-3PO, there are whole new problems and quirks to figure out, which they only find out about once OB-1 really gets into the swing of trying his body out.

"It is a little tight around the shoulders," the android says, stretching his arms forward while Shmi works to adjust the connections of his shoulders. "And something stutters around my left elbow, there's a little skip there –"

Anakin works to adjust that, OB-1 watching him curiously as he eases the cloth wrapped around his elbow back to reveal the joint connections. There are few more adjustments to be made before the Android reports he can move his arms easily – and then they move onto his legs and his walking, which is whole new set of problems.

"Do you know what your function is?" Shmi asks, while supporting OB-1 by one elbow as Anakin adjusts his knee joint – which, apparently, is too lax and tries to give in under his weight.

"I am a… personal assistant trainer?" OB-1 offers a little hesitantly, looking at her and then at Anakin.

"We wanted to make you into a teacher, but we couldn't get the right program," Anakin says, easing a screwdriver into the joint and then tightening couple of screws there. "You know what a teacher is? Bend your knee now, how does it feel?"

"Someone who teaches one or more students in varying subjects – I don't… seem to have a pre-programmed subject to teach?" OB-1 says confusedly and bends his knee. "That is much better, thank you."

"You're a little bit special where it comes to teaching – we'll figure that out in a bit," Anakin says. "Anything else wrong with your legs? Try and take few steps"

"Let's see," OB-1 answers and carefully eases off Shmi's supporting hand, taking couple of steps forward experimentally. Then, when he finds his footing more secure, he takes few more and then few back. "There is a slight lag in the lower right leg – it doesn't respond as quickly."

"How much of a lag?"

"0.0032 percent."

Anakin nods and goes to see about the wiring.

In the mean while Shmi goes around to face OB-1. "Can you recite me something, something a little longer?" she asks and touches his chin, lifting it a little. "There's something little wrong with your lip movement, I want to see you talk for a bit to see if I can pin it down."

"Very well," OB-1 says amiably and then hesitates. "What should I recite?"

Shmi and Anakin exchange looks, hesitating. "Anything you have access to that's longer than one hundred words," Shmi then says.

"Something about teachers," Anakin says then, just to see what it might bring up.

OB-1 gives them a curious look and then seems to take a moment to process it. Anakin holds his breath and feels his mother do the same as they wait to see what the android would come up with.

" _When studying the Jedi Code, a teacher should always remember that the Jedi Code was always written by people, for people, and thus it should be viewed through the lens of sentience and sapience and all that it entails_ ," OB-1 then starts reciting. "There is no emotion, there is peace _, is not in fact a meditation on the lack of emotion, for all things sapient feel and to not feel is to lose one's wise thinking heart. This sentence is therefore a reminder and goal, that the pursuit of all emotion should be that of peace and harmony within one's self. That_ there is no emotion, there is peace, _that emotion should not control us, that emotion is not the goal of our pursuits – instead it is the path to our own inner peace._ "

Shmi and Anakin stare at him, Shmi seemingly completely forgetting to follow his lip movement.

OB-1 hesitates. "Was that alright?" he asks, looking between them.

"What was it?" Anakin asks, fascinated. Jedi Code, that's – he saw that in the archives, he thinks, but it definitely hadn't come up no matter how long he spent screening the holocron. And all that, spoken in OB-1's soft accents, it sounded… nice. Poetic and stuff.

"Portion of an essay by Master Shaak Ti, _Lessons to old Teachers_ ," OB-1 says and looks at Shmi. "Was that alright for testing my lip movements?"

"Uh," she answers. "I'm sorry, I completely zoned out – is there more of the essay?"

"Yes, it's in total three thousand four hundred and fifteen words long."

Shmi shares a look with Anakin. "Recite the whole thing, please."

"Very well," OB-1 says and then continues. "There is no ignorance, there is knowledge, _is not an accusation for those ignorant to the ways or wisdom of others, but a word of guidance_ ," he recites. " _That knowledge and understanding should forever be a pursuit for all Jedi, the broadening of one's horizons and mastering of new wisdoms and new knowledge. For Jedi are forever students, and ignorance is never a bliss. Do not rely on your ignorance or seek solace in unawareness for they are a coward's excuses, but seek to know others, to understand their ways and their troubles, for in others we find mirrors to see ourselves on – and thus, learn to know ourselves better_ …"

It's weirdly dreamy. The wording of the whole thing is weirdly smooth and flowing. Jedi really like their poetry, don't they, Anakin muses, even as he loses himself half in the recital of the essay on Jedi Code and in the tinkering of OB-1's knee. In the mean while Shmi looks over OB-1's face and jaw, seeking the errors in his lip movements, eventually taking out a data pad and starting to write something down.

OB-1 takes about twenty minutes to go through the whole essay about the Code, much longer than it takes Anakin and Shmi to finish their testing. In the end, they sit back and just listen to the soft, lyrical recital in silence as OB-1 runs down the whole essay about self improvement and the mental pursuits of the Jedi.

Anakin wonders if he's ever met Master Shaak Ti. Probably not – whoever they are, they sound much warmer than the Jedi he'd met had felt like. It also kind of sounds like Master Shaak Ti's essay is rebuking someone – it kind of feels like someone told them, "Jedi are emotionless," and Master Shaak Ti wrote whole essay just to tell them tell them off.

"That was beautiful," Shmi says once OB-1 finishes.

"I can hardly take the credit," OB-1 says and hesitates. "I'm not entirely sure where that came from, however – I… have a very strange database."

"Yeah, you do," Anakin says. "You know what a holocron is?"

OB-1 hesitates for a moment, processing. "Holocron is a kyber based information storage device used by the Jedi," he says then.

He can access the files, Anakin realises and leans in. "Can you tell us more?"

"Certainly I can," OB-1 says, frowning a little. "Holocrons are much like datacrons in design, but are by and large considered much more advanced, due to their much higher storage capacity and the intricacy of their construction, and the fact that they can be read without any external devices due to their in build holographic displays. However due to the intricacy of the design, only those trained in the use of Force can truly utilise a holocron, as it takes Force not only to make a holocron but to later to activate for reading."

Anakin blinks at that. "Wait," he says. "What? Holocrons have holographic displays?"

"Yes," OB-1 says. "It is how they are generally read – a holocron will generally possess a form of a _guardian_ entity, a sort of personality imprint of whomever made the holocron, which acts both as the outlet for the holocron, as well as its internal security system so that it may only be read by those the maker of the holocron might approve. They are, in essence, datacrons with holographic displays, therefore… _holo_ cron."

Shmi and Anakin stare at him for a moment. "I didn't notice any hologram projectors in the thing," Anakin then says looking at his mother who just shakes her head.

OB-1 looks between them searchingly. "I assume the strange database I have is in fact… a holocron?" he says slowly.

"How did you guess that?" Shmi asks, frowning a little.

"It is _very_ strange," OB-1 says. "It does not read like normal memory bank. I suspected a faulty connection, or perhaps older model data disk, but… it is far too big. Am I correct, then, is there a holocron inside me?"

Anakin glances at his mother who hesitates and then he looks up at OB-1. The android is looking at them with curious, patient sort of expression, though how much of that is just his general expression. They'd done their best to program his facial expressions to correspond with whatever the _emotional_ reaction the android was having would be, but it's hard to tell how accurate they were with it. The lip movement at least is a little off.

But it won't do them any good to lie to the android now, and besides… this _is_ what he was made for.

"Yeah, there's a holocron inside you," Anakin says. "A holocron with all the knowledge of the Jedi I could get from their archives. We build you because we can't read the thing properly – there's too many files."

OB-1 nods slowly. "And I assume that is what I'm meant to teach you and assist you with?" he asks. "Decoding the holocron?"

"Teach us what's on it, yeah," Anakin says.

"How much of the holocron can you read?" Shmi asks worriedly.

OB-1 considers it for a moment. "It will take time to go through the whole thing," he admits. "It is quite few files. But… I should be able to access all of it in time."

"How much have you accessed so far?"

"Only about ten thousand files so far," OB-1 admits.

Shmi nods, swallowing. "Then I assume you already know about the Jedi, the Force, things like that?" she asks and OB-1 nods hesitantly. "Anakin is Force sensitive," she says then. "He was going to be a Jedi, but they rejected him. What we want is for you to teach him… what they wouldn't."

"I see," OB-1 says quietly, looking at Anakin.

"Mom's Force sensitive too," Anakin says and folds his arms. "And I know we're both too old, Mom more than me, but we don't care. _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge_ , right? And knowledge is strength. We want to _know_ the Force."

"I see," OB-1 says again, and nothing else. Anakin stares at him expectantly, but the android is just looking at them, thoughtful and curious and attentive.

There's a moment of expectant silence and then Shmi clears her throat. "Can you teach us?" she asks anxiously. "Will you teach us?"

OB-1 turns to look at her, blinking. "Yes, of course," he says. "But I suspect I need to go through everything within the holocron first, before I can put together a proper lesson plan," he admits. "There is quite bit of data. It will likely take me a few days."

Both Anakin and Shmi let out the breaths they'd been holding. "And you don't mind?" Anakin asks eagerly. "Even if it's against the Jedi Code and whatever?"

"It's against the code?" OB-1 asks confusedly.

"The Jedi High Council said the code forbid it, my training – because I'm too old," Anakin explains with a scowl. "And you probably have the code in you."

OB-1 looks at him curiously. "Perhaps I have yet to peruse those files," he admits slowly. "So far the Code has been fairly simple and it says no such thing. Still, that hardly matters. I am a droid, you are my masters. I will do as you ask of me."

Anakin almost recoils and Shmi leans back a little. It's bad enough coming from C-3PO, but even with all his joints wrapped in gauze and his hands covered in gloves to hide their skinlessness, OB-1 looks like a human. To hear him say, _master_ … "Don't – call us that," Shmi says then. "Please."

OB-1 looks at her strangely. "Very well," he says, sounding baffled. "What should I call you, then?"

"How about our _names_?" Anakin says wryly. "They usually work pretty well. I'm Anakin, she's Shmi, and that's enough, alright?"

"Alright… Anakin," OB-1 says, still looking a little confused but agreeable.

Anakin breathes a little, in and out. "Good," he says. "Better."

"Yes, better," Shmi agrees with a sigh and looks OB-1 over. "So it will take you few days to go through the holocron?"

"Approximately three days and eight hours, yes," OB-1 agrees, sounding almost relieved to move on from the confusion of names.

"Alright, you do that, in the mean while, we need to fix your lip movements, you're not quite in synch," Shmi says. "And we need to get you some clothes and a makeover."

"Is there something wrong with my looks?" OB-1 asks confusedly and then looks down at himself.

"Well you're naked for one," Anakin snorts. "And your hair's a mess. We need to fix it."

OB-1 reaches up to touch his hair – and immediately gets his gloved fingers stuck in the entangled half matted mess. "Oh dear," he murmurs faintly and tugs lightly, making a face as if it hurts – which of course it doesn't. "Yes, I see what you mean."

Anakin snorts again and hops to his feet. OB-1 came weirdly soft, all things considered – sure they'd designed him for that, to make him seem as human as possible, but he's… just a lot more human than he'd thought the android would be. It's a good thing, definitely, and it's not like C-3PO couldn't fake humanity pretty well too with his voice and actions and occasional flailing indignation, but this…

Yeah, Anakin could get behind a having a teacher like this, soft spoken and polite and gentle.

* * *

 

The word gets out the moment they go out asking if anyone has any clothes to spare for man. Their little house goes from semi quiet to busy in an instant and before Anakin and Shmi can even try and figure out what to do about OB-1's looks, they have an actual hairdresser in – or rather, a shop assistant at hair salon.

"Mind you, most I do is sweep the floors and clean the dye vats between haircuts," the elderly male slave from the hair salon, Renah, admits. "But I've been watching the masters do their thing for years now and I think I got a decent handle of it."

He also has some illicitly borrowed things from the hair salon with him – one of which is a synthetic hair applier.

While another slave, Ginae from clothier store who is the source of most of the clothes in the Slave Quarters, measures OB-1 out for how much clothes she needs to sneak away to dress him up properly, Renah goes about the task of first shaving all of OB-1's matted hair off, leaving him momentarily bald, before applying the synthetic hair gadget on him – after, of course, lot of comments from the rather sizable peanut gallery about what colour to go with.

"Don't make him blond," Shmi says quickly.

"Make him pink, neon pink!" one of the girls from the brothels quips, much to the enjoyment of the whole crowd.

"Don't make him pink – we're trying to help him blend into a crowd, not make everyone notice him," Anakin snaps.

"Black hair then?" Renah asks, adding in the capsule of liquid which, when applied by the device, will be spun into synthetic hair. "Or dark brown."

"Noo," someone shouts in the crowd and people boo at Renah. "That's boring! Go with something at least little more exciting!"

OB-1 looks very confused about the whole thing, even as he stands there to be prodded and poked and measured for clothing. "Is this common?" he asks Shmi, who is running a hand over her face, looking resigned.

"Around here, it seems to be," she says and laughs. "You're bit of a celebrity in these parts, I'm afraid. Don't let it get to you. Now what colour hair would you like?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," OB-1 admits and holds out his hands when Ginae prods him to change poses so she can measure him from wrist to wrist. "I suppose something… average would be suitable."

"Aww, normal is so boring! Boo, OB-1, boo!" someone in the crowd shouts. "You need to live a little."

OB-1 gives them a rather startled, helpless look. "Something little less average then?" he asks and glances at Anakin for help. "But still normal enough that it will not be unusual?"

Anakin sighs and rests hands on his hip. "Fine," he says and flips a finger at the crowd. "How about we make you ginger, then?"

It gets mixed results from the crowd who want to make OB-1 all sorts of neon colours, but OB-1 himself shrugs in agreement and that's that. "Ginger him up, Renah," Anakin says and points at the crowd. "And you lot have no say in this."

"Boo, Ani, boo."

"Up yours."

"Right then," Renah says and lifts the synthetic hair applier. "Now, this works on human skin pretty well – comes off in about a month, though, because skin growth and what not. I don't know how it will work for synthetic skin."

Anakin grabs a scope and leans in to watch. "Do a small patch and we'll see how it looks," he says. The applier works by inserting punch of needles into the skin, bit like tattoo needles, and then squirting a bit of the synthetic hair stuff in, before the hair is sort of pulled into existence, kind of like being painted in three dimensions. It is both cool and weirdly creepy, to see it happen in microscopic view.

But in the end, the synthetic hair seems to works pretty well on synthetic skin – hooks in pretty much the same it does with humans, and probably stays on a lot longer. While the crowd in their living room watch on like it's a spectator sport, Renah goes about applying the hair all over OB-1's scalp, slowly covering the baldness in tresses of ginger hair – long by Shmi's and Anakin's insistence, since that way it will be easier to hide the seams of skin in the back of OB-1's neck.

Ginger hair, it turns out, fits OB-1 pretty well. It needs to be trimmed a bit, definitely – it's sort of in random length chunks right. But still, it doesn't look half bad.

"Now for beard, same colour I imagine?" Renah asks and changes the settings on the applier. "How do you want this to go then?"

"We need to hide the jaw seam here," Shmi points. "And give him a good moustache – better to hide his lip movements, they're still a little off. So… a full beard is the best way to go."

"How are you feeling, OB-1?" Anakin asks curiously, looking him over.

"Pampered," OB-1 admits, sounding sheepish and pleased all at once, making people in the crowd chuckle.

"Don't move now," Renah says and then goes about applying the beard. It's pretty neat, how the applier can actually make the hair look like actual beard hair, just a bit curly and rougher than actual hair. Renah goes about painting the jaw line in it, hiding the seams of skin there, before going around under the jaw as well, following the seam there. Then he goes about adding in the rest in long, broad strokes

OB-1 looks bit like a furry bush by the end of the whole process though, much to the enjoyment of everyone watching.

"What?" the android asks in confusion as people laugh at him.

"You look like you're in terrible need of a shave," Shmi chuckles and goes to get a mirror.

"But I thought that was the point…" OB-1 trails off confusedly and then stops to stare at him in the reflection she's showing. "Oh good grief," he says in horror, and the crowd roars in laughter.

"No worries, friend, I will give you a trim, make you look bit more presentable," Renah chuckles and goes to get a pair of scissors to do just that. He ends up taking off more hair than he put in, but it definitely looks a lot better afterwards, much to OB-1's obvious, amusing, relief.

Bearded, OB-1 looks a little older. Without hair he'd looked somewhere in his twenties maybe, but the beard adds some years to his face, which probably is just a good thing. Especially so since the man won't actually ever age.

Lastly OB-1 gets a trim of his hair, which Renah leaves fairly long, but smoothes out the janky cut into something someone might actually want on their head. It doesn't look half bad – judging by the audience reaction, he even looks good.

"Not half bad if I say so myself," Renah says, stepping back and snipping the air with the scissors with definite pride.

"Not half bad at all," Shmi agrees smiling, and checks OB-1's jaw line, handing him the mirror to check himself over. "Yes, this will do just fine."

"Okay, people, show's over," Anakin says and claps his hands at the audience of curious slaves. "Out you get, all of you. We got cleaning to do."

"Aww," someone bemoans. "We could help?"

"Out, shoo, all of you!"

OB-1 runs a hand through the beard and then up to his hair, watching his own reflection. "Not half bad," he murmurs, looking pleased.

Ginae brings some spools of freshly produced synthwool the next day to begin clothing OB-1 up. They'd gotten some donations of other people's hand me downs – OB-1 has a pair of trousers that fit him, and boots that are only a little worn, but most of the shirts and tunics they got are way too worn.

"The more we cover him up the better," Shmi admits, tilting her head a little. "His shoulders are still a little too… hmm. The knees are a little obvious when he walks…"

OB-1 rolls his shoulders awkwardly – they are still rather high and straight for a normal human – and then looks down to his knees and bends one of them a little – making the edge of the obviously artificial joint show through the fabric of his pants. "They rather are, aren't they," he muses.

"Something with a long hem might do the trick," Ginae murmurs around the pins in her mouth.

"Ooh, we could give him a robe," Anakin says and grins. "All the way down to his ankles. He'll look like a proper – uh, a teacher person."

Shmi gives him a look for the near slip while Ginae frowns a little, folding her arms. "Long hems hide multitude of sins," she comments and eyes Shmi. "I think I have enough fabric for it."

"How about a cloak?" Shmi asks, glancing at Ginae.

"I'll see what can do," Ginae says and then gets to it, draping OB-1 in cloth and starting to figure out the cut of the clothes.

"Proper tailored clothing," OB-1 muses. "Now this is very fancy, isn't it?"

"Don't get used to it," Anakin laughs. "Chances are you'll only get this one set of clothing."

"I shall make sure to treasure it, then," OB-1 promises solemnly.

In the end, Ginae and Shmi go about clothing OB-1 together. Hand-me-down trousers and boots and one of the better tunics – a fairly thick dark brown one which hides the seams of his neck. Then the light beige robe which Ginae made, slightly thinner than the tunic, but long enough to hide OB-1's slightly angular knees pretty well. It's bound up with a cloth belt and leather belt over it, to keep it in place and to give in place to hang things on if he needs to. Then over the robe goes a thick synthwool cloak, not that different from what Jedi wear – though this one has a slightly more pointed hood which is privately hilarious to Anakin.

He really looks a little like Jedi to Anakin – but not noticeably so. The robe is too long, the cloak too humble, the belt too simple and so on. He looks like person from Tatooine, more than anything – or rather an outlander, who's settled into Tatooine and is still kind of getting used to simpler clothing. It's simple, but just a little bit fancy.

"It's perfect," Shmi says and pats Ginae's back. "Well done, my friend."

OB-1 smoothes hand down the front of his robes, looking down at himself. With all the seams and joints and weird angular bits converted up, with the hair and the beard and all… He looks like human, one hundred percent.

"He's _perfect_ ," Anakin says proudly.

"Aww, Anakin, you'll make me blush," OB-1 says, smiling a little – and with the beard hiding the slightly offbeat of his lip movement, it looks completely natural.

Anakin just beams at him and then looks up at his mother. "You think it's safe to take him outside now?"

Shmi considers him and then looks at OB-1 from to bottom, walking around him to see him at all angles. "I think it is," she agrees with great satisfaction and looks at Ginae. "What do you think?"

The middle aged slave from the clothier shop considers the android and then nods. "No doubt about it."

"Before that, though," Shmi says quickly before Anakin can go to grab OB-1's hand, "there are things we need to explain him. Ginae, thank you for this," she says turning to the slave woman. "We really appreciate it."

"Yes, indeed, thank you," OB-1 says and bows his head. "These are a fine set of clothing, thank you."

"I have kids, you know," Ginae says, turning to pack her things away. "Can't say I'm not personally invested in this. We're all got something riding on, OB-1. Here's hoping you deliver."

OB-1 gives her and Shmi a slightly worried look while Ginae takes her things. "I… hope so too. Thank you, in any case," he says a little awkwardly and with a nod the slave woman bids her goodbyes to Shmi and Anakin and then leaves them to it.

Shmi sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "Right, now," she says. "How far along are you reading those files, OB-1?"

"About half way through," OB-1 admits. "I need another day at least before I dare to try and put together a lesson plan for either of you – and I will need to test you for your level of education."

"You can have all the time you need, and we can do that, yes, later," Shmi promises, motioning Anakin to join her. "But that's not… all. You're going to be teaching other people too."

"In Jedi arts?" OB-1 clarifies.

"Not – not precisely," Shmi says and glances at Anakin

"No one knows we have the holocron – no one knows about it at all," Anakin says seriously. "And we want to keep it that way. That's why we made you like – this," he motions at Obi-Wan. "That's why we made you look like human. To hide it."

OB-1 looks between them and idly adjusts the lapels of his robes. "Judging by what you've said and what I have overheard so far, you want me to not only pass for a human but… pretend I am one," he says slowly. "I assume that as a droid I'm more vulnerable."

"Yes," Shmi says sadly. "Droids get stolen all the time. People get kidnapped, but… rarely."

"The holocron is really valuable," Anakin says. "Really, really valuable. People would snatch you up in a heartbeat if they knew you have it. So, we need to keep it a secret. Only we know about it and we gotta keep it that way."

"The others are hoping that you will be able to teach them and their children self defence," Shmi says, looking OB-1 over. "We thought you might be able to do that much at least, since Jedi… have lot of combat arts."

"They do," OB-1 agrees, processing it. "Hmm what a curious situation. So, I must pretend to be human and I must not let people know I have the holocron and the data within it?"

"That about sums it up," Shmi agrees. "If there's other things you can teach the others that won't reveal the Jedi arts or the holocron, we wouldn't mind that, but for now… for now we need to hide it."

"I see," OB-1 agrees and looks at Anakin consideringly. "Can you tell me about this society, this community? It seems very delicate somehow," he says hesitantly. "Very secretive. Everyone seems to do everything behind their Masters' backs, I don't quite understand the need for that. Shouldn't their Masters help them?"

Anakin stares at him in horror – and then he gets it. "No, no, OB-1, their masters aren't like Jedi Masters – they aren't their students. They're slaves, their masters are their _owners_."

OB-1 stares at him in surprise. "Oh," he says, very quiet. "I didn't realise."

"Sorry for the confusion – but yes. They're slaves. We _were_ slaves too, but we were freed some time ago, which gives us some liberties they don't have," Shmi says and looks to the window, sighing. "Slave owners generally do not want their property to get in any way stronger, or more capable than they are," she says. "Slaves aren't allowed to have education, to learn things – certainly they have no teachers."

"And no way in hell are they allowed to know how to _defend_ themselves," Anakin scoffs. "That's why everyone's so invested. They're hoping you'll help them to get… stronger. And we're hoping that too – but we need to be _careful._ "

OB-1 looks between them searchingly. "I see," he says and nods. "I think I understand now."

"One more thing," Shmi says and wrings her hands a bit awkwardly. "We, uh… broke quite few laws in making you. Droids that pass for humans, androids like you, they're… very illegal. And we didn't add any of the droid laws into you, because… it would've made things difficult for you. So… don't tell anyone."

OB-1 arches an eyebrow at that. "I see," he says again, rather meaningful and looks between them in astonishment. "Seems like I've been brought into to quite the tense situation."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Anakin says, scratching at the back of his head. "But you know… necessity is the mother of invention… and crime."

OB-1 gives him a look at that. "Mm-hmm," he answers wryly.

Shmi coughs awkwardly. "Well, that's… the gist of the situation," she says. "Do you think you can play along?"

"After all the trouble you've gone through, it would be callous of me not to," OB-1 says – thankfully, rather than the other thing, about following his masters’ orders or whatever. "I will do my utmost to keep my presence and… existence quiet."

"Thank you," Shmi says earnestly and straightens up. "Alright, now that that is covered… I think you're ready to see what Mos Espa is like."

"Yes!" Anakin punches the air and as OB-1 blinks at them in surprise Anakin grabs his gloved hand. "Come on, OB-1," he says and tugs the surprised android on. "I want to show you _everything_!"

* * *

 

OB-1 takes to Tatooine and to the Slave Quarters of Mos Espa like he's taken to most everything so far – with amiable sort of curiosity and gentle attentiveness that makes him well liked pretty much instantly. Even people who have never been part of the construction process and people who know _nothing_ about OB-1 are easily taken in by his manners.

"Oh, you're a dear young man," old Jira says, as OB-1 charms her with few remarks and helps her heft up few crates of fresh fruits when accompanying Anakin to the market. "Are you new to Tatooine, then?"

"I'm so and so," OB-1 says, smiling as he folds his hands into the sleeves of his robes – something he's quickly taken to doing to avoid drawing notice to his gloved hands. "It's quite the place, Tatooine."

"That's one way of putting it," Jira laughs and pats him on the shoulder compassionately. Anakin watches the interaction carefully – but it doesn't seem she can feel the metal joints of OB-1's shoulder through all the layers of clothing. Good, that's good.

In his mind Anakin is coming up with excuses and explanations in case OB-1 slips somehow. He's outlander is easy one to go to if OB-1 says or does something weird, off-worlders are always a bit weird. If some part of OB-1 gets revealed, they can play it off as a prosthetic though hopefully it wouldn't come to that – the whole man is a prosthetic after all.

So far he hasn't needed to explain anything away though. Somehow the mingled programming of personal trainer and personal assistant makes OB-1 very adjustable to social situations. It kind of makes sense – personal training programming is all about adjusting to students needs and personal assistants have to conform to their employers needs, so throwing it together makes him twice as amenable. Still, how smoothly OB-1 goes about it all is kind of stunning; he just _fits_ right in with every interaction, seemingly effortlessly. He's better at social interactions than just about any _human_ Anakin has ever known.

Anakin might take a private moment to mentally pat himself on the back for that. Granted he hadn't exactly designed either programming himself, but he'd done most of the recoding to fit them together and apparently he'd done damn good job.

All in all, OB-1 slides into his place in the Slave Quarters almost like he'd always been there. It's helped by the efforts of more or less every slave in the district. If ever there is anyone from outside asking about OB-1, there'd always been a slave or two there to assure that, "Oh, that's just Obi-Wan, he's been here forever – haven't you seen him? He lives in the Slave Quarters, you know."

And as far as anyone is concerned, that's that.

* * *

 

"I have finished going through the files."

Anakin and Shmi both look up sharply from their morning meal, as OB-1 speaks from the floor, where he's sitting near a charging outlet – a chord between his waist and the wall the only outward sign of his more robotic nature. He has his ankles folded and his hands resting in his lap and for all the world to see, he looks like he's meditating.

"All of them?" Anakin asks, excitedly.

"I believe so," OB-1 agrees and opens his eyes. "I want to test you two for your education and skill level, if that's alright, before I start planning your individual lessons."

"I thought we'd be learning together," Shmi says worriedly. "Aside from the times when I'm at work, of course."

"And perhaps you will – but there is no point in trying to teach you something you already know," OB-1 says and detaches his charging cable from the outlet, winding it into a loose loop and then hiding it under his cloth belt. He stands up smoothly and walks over. "You both can read and write, you're bilingual at least and you have advanced understanding in mechanics, I know that much. But I will need to know your understanding of philosophy, mathematics, your ethics… that sort of things. And of course your level of physical strength and agility, for the eventual combat training."

"Right, of course," Shmi says. "What would the testing entail, then?"

OB-1 looks between. "Neither of you have ever been to a classroom, I assume? Do you know what a written exam is?"

Both Anakin and Shmi shake their heads.

"Alright. If you permit the use of a datapad, I will compile a series of questions I want you to answer to the best of your ability," OB-1 explains. "That will test your knowledge level, your reasoning abilities, your understanding of various concepts, that sort of thing."

"Do we need to study for this?" Shmi asks worriedly.

"It's better you don't," OB-1 smiles.

"But what if we do badly?" Anakin demands.

"Then I will know what I need to teach you," the android says and motions to the free seat, silently asking permission to sit. Shmi nods and OB-1 takes seat beside them. "This is just so that I know where and how to start with you – it's not life or death, there is no need to stress about it. It's mostly for my benefit than yours."

"Alright," Anakin says and frowns. "Do they do this sort of thing in actual schools."

"Oh yes, quite often – even Jedi initiates are tested, and quite often," OB-1 agrees with a faint smile.

"And the physical testing?" Shmi asks. "How does that go?"

"If Tatooine was slightly… friendlier, I would test you for endurance and things of that nature, but I do not think such experiments are safe on such a hostile world," OB-1 admits. "I will simply test your general strength level against myself, my sensors should be enough to get us accurate enough readings… and your limberness can be tested with series of stretches. I will warn you right now – if you mean to learn to fight properly, on level of Jedi… you will need to start doing daily stretches as well as physical exercises to increase physical strength."

"I'm so ready for that," Anakin says. "I would've been doing them already if I knew how – I wanna get stronger quickly."

"Building muscle takes time," OB-1 warns him. "And building it _properly_ takes effort."

"I'm ready," Anakin says again, even firmer this time. "I'm prepared."

The android looks him over and then nods. "I don't doubt that for a moment."

Shmi frowns a little though, considering her food. "I have to go to work," she then says. "And when I come home from work, I'm generally too tired for much anything. I don't know if I will have the energy to exercise after all of it. I'd still like to learn, but…"

"We'll try and figure out a exercise routine that won't wear you out," OB-1 promises her and looks between them. "So, I suppose I can make the tests for you? And use the datapad for it."

"Yes, yes, of course," Shmi says. "OB-1, you don't have to ask permission to use things around the house, you know – this is your home too. You're welcome to everything here."

OB-1 looks at her and then smiles, bowing his head a little, looking pleased. "I didn't want assume," he says and nods. "Thank you. I will start working on the written test, then – I can test Anakin for it today while you're work, and you after, if you'd like?"

"That sounds good, thank you OB-1," Shmi says and smiles, looking to Anakin. "Looks like we're going to get trained," she says and Anakin grins back at her.

Nearly nine months, and they're ready – they're going to get training, Jedi training. Take that, Jedi High Council!

* * *

 

The test is _gruelling_. Its hundred questions about the most random things – some are math puzzles, some are weird hypothetical situations, there's bunch of logic puzzles and riddles and some questions are just… nonsense. What is the centre of the universe, what is the goal of sentient life, what is the meaning of death, stuff like that.

"I don't get most of this," Anakin admits, glaring at the stupid datapad and its stupid series of nonsense questions.

"Then write down that you don't understand the question, maybe add in why you don't understand the question or what confuses you about it, and then move on," OB-1 answers calmly. "You don't need to be right – just honest."

"Right," Anakin says. "I mean – you know what I mean."

"Honestly," OB-1 answers, smiling.

Anakin has to write down – _I don't understand the question_ to most of the questions in the end. OB-1 didn't add more than mere handful about stuff he does know, mechanics and stellar navigation, stuff like that, stuff which Anakin _knows_ but the rest are like a foreign language. The logic puzzles and riddles he can do, and he thinks he answers the hypothetical stuff right, but the diplomacy stuff flies completely pass him, he doesn't know enough Force to answer most questions about it, and what little he knows about the Jedi can be summed up in few words… so in the end, there's more I don't knows in his answers than actual answers.

It's kind of embarrassing.

"It's not my fault I haven't had the chance to learn anything, and Qui-Gon didn't really have the chance to teach me much anything even though he wanted to," Anakin mutters somewhat mutinously while handing the datapad back to OB-1.

"Qui-Gon?" OB-1 asks and his eyes get that distant look to them which means he's accessing the holocron data. "Master Qui-Gon Jinn, I assume?"

"Yeah – he was the Jedi who found me and took me to the temple to train me, before the High Council said no and send me back," Anakin admits and folds his arms, glaring at the datapad. "He told me stuff, but he didn't really get to teach me much."

"Hmm," OB-1 answers and attaches a cable to the datapad, downloading Anakin's test straight from it instead of bothering to read it. He considers the results for a moment and then looks at Anakin. "You don't need to feel bad about not knowing things, Anakin – like said, you haven't been taught and you haven't had opportunity to learn. At this point it's a miracle you know as much as you do. And you didn't build me to judge you for what you don't know – but to teach you."

Anakin eyes him suspiciously. "Is comforting students part of your programming?"

"Actually, yes, it is," OB-1 says and smiles. "Encouragement is the greatest educational tool of them all. Now of all the things you couldn't answer – what bothers you the most?"

Anakin frowns. "All of it. Why?"

"I'm looking for a starting point to start explaining these questions for you, so that you will understand why I asked them, specifically," OB-1 admits, giving him a look, "But I can do that in order as well."

Anakin frowns. "The nonsense questions," he says then. "The centre of universe and stuff – there is no centre of the universe."

"Alright, we'll start with that," OB-1 agrees and sets the datapad down, so that Anakin can look over the questions again. "Why do you think there is no centre of the universe?"

"Because – because there isn't," Anakin says, giving him a look. "The universe blew up to existence, didn't it? Everything started from the same place, and because of that there is no centre. Not unless everything is the centre of the universe."

OB-1 arches an eyebrow at that.

"What?" Anakin asks suspiciously.

"I suppose without context the question is a little odd," OB-1 admits then. "It's sort of Jedi moral trick question. There is four accepted ways to answer the question. The centre of the universe is _nothing_ , the centre of the universe is _everything_ , the centre of the universe is _me_ ," OB-1 says, pointing at Anakin. "Or the centre of the universe is _the Force_. How you answer the question tends to indicate your belief on what is important in the universe. Everything, nothing, sentient people, or the Force itself."

"But – if you say _I'm the centre of the universe_ then you're just big headed jerk," Anakin says flatly.

"Well, yes, but it's usually taken to mean _me_ as a thinking and feeling person, and it's usually taken to mean all thinking and feeling people," OB-1 admits and motions at his head. "Because for all thinking and feeling people, what they think and feel is… in sense, the centre of their universe. The universe is always around them – they are always at the centre of their own experiences."

Anakin stares at him dubiously.

OB-1 smiles faintly. "Something to consider later date once you're little further into philosophical studies," he muses. "In any case the question means to test the student's priorities. Do you want to change your answer, knowing that?"

Anakin hesitates and looks at the test. His answer was, " _I don't get this question_." He could change it to “ _The centre of the universe is the universe_ ,” but…he still doesn’t really get the point of the question.

"No, I want to keep it like that," Anakin decides and skips ahead. "What about this one, what is the meaning of death? Death doesn't have a meaning, it's just… a thing that happens to everyone, right? Or is this like test of priorities again?"

"In a sense, yes. Death is meaningless, death is meaning onto itself, death gives meaning to life, death is a destination – life the journey… there are many ways to answer the question," OB-1 explains. "It's gets tricky because of the Jedi code, hence why it's often asked of Jedi to test their philosophical mindset."

"Because… _there is no death, there is the Force_ ," Anakin asks hesitantly. "But I don't get that either."

"The Jedi believe that everything comes from the Force, and eventually… everything returns to the Force. When they die, they aren't lost, they aren't dead – they become part of the Force," OB-1 explains. "So for a Jedi death isn't even the destination of a life's long journey, just… shift to a new path on a journey that never actually ends."

Anakin eyes him for a moment. "Really?" he asks suspiciously. "That sounds like bantha poodoo."

OB-1 chuckles. "Do you want to change your answer?"

Anakin's answer to the question: " _What is the meaning of death?_ " had been; _"What is this even supposed to mean?!_ "

"Nah, leave it," Anakin says and scowls at the datapad twice as hard as before. "Are all the nonsense questions like this?"

"If by nonsense you mean philosophy and ethics, then… yes, most likely," OB-1 admits with a chuckle.

Anakin makes a face and leans his elbow to the table, his cheek onto his palm. "Do I _have_ to learn stuff about philosophy?" he asks plaintively. "I'm not actually going to be a Jedi or anything – I just want to learn how to use the Force."

"I'm afraid how the Jedi use the Force is intricately tied to their philosophies," OB-1 says apologetically. "To use the Force is to utilise one's mind, more than anything. The better trained the mind, the better they are in understanding and thus using the Force. Philosophy is a tool of enhancing one's understanding… among other things. If you want to learn to use the Force like a Jedi then, I'm sorry… you will have to learn how to think like one too."

"Ugh," Anakin answers. "I'm starting to think where all the meditation comes from," he mutters disgustedly.

"I'm afraid you will have to learn how to do that, too," OB-1 says and smiles at him. "Shall we move to another question?"

"Ugh, fine," Anakin sighs.

He can already tell that philosophy is not going to be his favourite thing ever to learn.

His mother does much better with the test than he does in the end – turns out she is good at the nonsense philosophy stuff. She even likes it, her eyes lighting up a little when OB-1 presents her the same sort of Jedi ethics nonsense he'd done with Anakin.  Somehow, Anakin isn't even surprised – he is, however, a little disgusted with her.

"How can you _like_ this stuff?" he asks dubiously.

Shmi ruffles his hair with a sort of nostalgic pain. "Sometimes all you have to keep company with are your own thoughts," she says. "And to know yourself is to be strong."

Anakin hesitates and then leans his forehead against her shoulder with a sigh. Right, he thinks and closes his eyes. She's been a slave since she was a little girl – and she'd always said that of all her masters… Watto was the kindest. Right.

"I hear you," Anakin mutters and she chuckles and presses a kiss on his hair.

OB-1 looks between them. "Do you want to discuss the written test some more, or shall we move onto the physical testing?" he asks.

"No, we might as well do that now," Shmi says and gives Anakin another squeeze. "Then you can start planning our lessons."

"Very well," OB-1 nods and stands up, setting the datapad down. "I want you two to stretch a little first, and do some warm up exercises, so that there won't be any risk of sprains," he explains and moves to the centre of the living room. "Come here, please, and follow my example."

What follows is a weird… something, Anakin doesn't really have a word for what they do. OB-1 runs them through handful of postures that Anakin thinks he will feel in the backs of his calves and thighs for the days to come and which make his Mother wince a little as she stretches her back and it produces an audible _crack_. OB-1 quickly moves to her side and shows her how to do the stretch without straining herself, and for a while they just… wrangle themselves into weird positions.

"Alright, now, Anakin," OB-1 says and holds out his hand. "I want you to push my hand up as hard as you can."

"Huh?" Anakin asks, confused.

"Just push my palm up," OB-1 says and holds his hand level. Anakin shrugs, and then does as ordered, grabbing OB-1's hand and pushing it – or trying to anyway. It doesn't move all that much. "Good," OB-1 says. "Now, take ten second break – and do it again." And then, after another break of thirty seconds, again. "I'm trying to calculate an average," OB-1 explains to Shmi who is watching on confusedly.

"I see," she says and folds her arms.

"Move, damn you," Anakin grunts, pushing at OB-1's hand with all his might – but best he can do is get it up maybe few centimetres. " _Ugh_."

"Good job," OB-1 says, grinning a little at the face Anakin makes at him. "Now try it with _just_ your right hand." And after Anakin has failed to do much anything to OB-1's hand three times in a row, the android nods. "And now your left."

"We made you pretty damn well," Anakin grunts, OB-1's palm refuses to budge again, three times in a row.

"You did indeed," OB-1 chuckles. "Now, take a shoulder wide stance – good – and now try pull my hand down. No, not with your weight, don't bend your knees, keep your back straight and use your arms …"

The other tests are the pretty much the same, pushing or pulling against OB-1's hands in various ways for him to calculate the force excreted… except for the ones of Anakin's leg strength OB-1 makes him lie down on the floor and _then_ push his feet against his hands. Anakin thinks he maybe sprains his stomach or something while doing it too, he can definitely feel the strain in his belly.

"Alright, good job, Anakin, thank you. Now, Shmi," OB-1 turns to her and holds out his hand. "Pretty much the same thing. Please come here and try and push my hand up."

"Alright," Shmi says and quickly pulls her sleeves up. Anakin collapses onto the floor and just breathes for a while.

How hard is the training going to be when just _testing_ them for how much they can do without training is this taxing?

He can't _wait_ to find out.


	4. Chapter 4

"The exact origins of the Jedi Order are contested but the general consensus puts their origins to the Jedha moon on the system of Jedha," OB-1 tells them, sitting cross-legged by the wall while Anakin and Shmi do their morning exercises. "Orders of Force Sensitives existed before then of course – Guardians of the Whills for one are thought to predate the Jedi Order as a cohesive system of belief – but Jedi as a term specific to people who followed certain edicts and performed in certain ways begun on Jedha."

Anakin grunts through his way through another push up. "Q-Qui-Gon told me about that," he grits out at the floor, his arms shaking. Shmi is doing much better at his side – she's already on her eight push up. "About the Guardians of – of the Whills. They're still around."

"Yes," OB-1 agrees. "Some believe that the Jedi and the Guardians of the Whills were once part of the same system – they share certain sets of beliefs and of course Guardians of the Whills practice martial arts as well, not that terribly different from earlier forms of lightsaber combat. The difference is thought to have arisen from the difference of _purpose._ Guardians of the Whills are protectors of the Temples of Whills and Churches of Force, as well as the missionaries of the Faiths of the Force – while Jedi are the protectors of all."

Anakin scoffs at that and forces himself through another, shaking, pushup.

"Also, Guardians of the Whills seek to protect the Kyber crystals that moon of Jedha is known for, while Jedi sought to make use of them," OB-1 continues. "The first experiments in lightsaber craft begun on Jedha and one legend places this at the point of the eventual, final split between the Jedi and the Guardians – Jedi were banished from Jedha due to their heretical use of Kyber."

"What – really?" Anakin asks, and his arms falter a little, almost sending him flat on his face on the floor.

"What is kyber anyway?" Shmi asks, holding her position with arms outstretched for a moment and then lowering herself slowly for another pushup.

"Kyber is what is most commonly known as _lightsaber crystal._ It has other uses, for example holocrons are made of Kyber…" OB-1 trails away, motioning at his chest and smiling a little. "…but lightsaber construction is the most commonly known one. It is in sense highly conductive, Force sensitive crystal. Not all that much more is known about it – partially because the two planets known to have it, Jedha and Ilum, are both heavily guarded. Jedha by the Guardians of the Whills, and Ilum by Jedi who have kept the very location of the planet secret."

Anakin strains to do another pushup – but no, his arms have had it now, refusing to so much as _try_ and in the end he collapses onto the floor with a oomph. "Ugh, I'm done," he grunts. "I am so done."

"Take a two minute break and then crunches," OB-1 says with a smile.

"Ugh."

"Do Guardians of the Whills do anything with Kyber?" Shmi asks curiously, tilting her head up to look at OB-1.

"There are rumours that some of their members do utilise the crystals in some fashion, but it's not really factually confirmed," OB-1 says, that distant look of _searching holocron_ in his eyes. "There is a record of one member having a staff equipped with a single shard of kyber, but the purpose of it isn't known. It wasn't to turn it into a lightsaber, anyway."

"So what do they do with it, if they don't make lightsabers or anything?" Anakin asks, sitting up and shaking some feeling back into his arms and hands.

OB-1 shakes his head. "That I have no proper record of. In all likelihood they meditate on it. Lightsaber construction is a skill limited to the Jedi, however – I doubt the Guardians of the Whills are in on the methods of lightsaber construction."

"Are you?" Anakin asks, thought coming to him. "Do you know how to make a lightsaber – could you?"

"Perhaps," OB-1 admits. "But you can only make a lightsaber with a suitable kyber crystal. And I hardly think we're in possession of those."

"Yeah – but you know _how_ they're made?"

OB-1 nods slowly.

Anakin nods, satisfied. At least, if the opportunity ever actually rose… they could make them.

"All Jedi martial arts use lightsabers, don't they?" Shmi asks worriedly. "Since we don't have those – and none of the slaves will ever have them either… Can we really use their martial arts properly?"

OB-1 considers that, searching the holocron again. "Yes and no. There are aspects to Jedi martial arts that are only applicable with a plasma blade that cuts – but the focus of Jedi combat forms is less in the cutting power of the weapon used and more in its ability to stop, or reflect, plasma bolts. A staff of material that is impervious to plasma bolts might do well enough."

Shmi frowns a little and then gets her knees under her, sitting up and shaking her arms a little. "Some sort of composite metal, maybe," she murmurs. "Something like hull material from space ships...."

"Maybe," OB-1 agrees with a nod. "Shall we continue with Jedi history? Anakin, crunches."

"Ugh!" Anakin answers but lays down on the floor, legs bent, for sit up crunches. "We need a softer carpet."

"I'll see if I can find us mats to use," Shmi promises and nods to OB-1. "Continue, please."

OB-1 nods. "The very first Jedi Temples were build on Jedha in the time when Jedi Order still had presence on the planet, but aside from those the oldest Jedi Temples are found on Coruscant and on Lothal and Vrogas Vas…"

* * *

 

While Anakin and Shmi learn about the groundwork of Jedi and also lay the groundwork of their own education by trying to enhance their physical strength – and by learning meditation too, because apparently it's vital to mastering the Force… there is also the rest of the Slave Quarters to consider.

"The sooner the lessons begin, the better," Dinah says, when she comes over to check up on them – and on OB-1's process. "And the faster we get the neighbourhood used to OB-1 coming and going, the better."

"Of course," Shmi agrees, considering OB-1. "You don't mind teaching the slaves martial arts, do you?"

"I do not, no," OB-1 says with an amiable nod. "However the information I have is somewhat specific, I am not sure how to generalise it."

"How do you mean?" Dinah demands.

He means, he doesn't know how to teach martial arts for Force sensitive to people who aren't Force sensitive, Anakin guesses, but OB-1 says, "Most all the martial arts in my memory are for weapon usage, staffs and staves at the very least," he says. "And when I asked around, I came to the conclusion that slaves aren't permitted weapons."

Dinah arches her eyebrows and looks at Shmi. "Well, I think staffs might be done," Shmi says slowly. "Stick can be just as well as a tool as a weapon. So as long as it doesn't have a blade…"

"We can disguise a staff in our house any number of ways, if there's a raid or an inspection," Dinah says, waving a dismissive arm. "Make it a curtain rod or broom handle or whatever, no one will think twice about it."

"That is… good to hear," OB-1 says slowly.

"So, people you teach, they should all get staffs," Dinah muses. "I'll see it's done. But when can you start, that's the thing here."

OB-1 looks at Anakin and Shmi. "When would be the best time, then?"

Anakin folds his arms. "When Mom isn't here, maybe?"

"No," Shmi says. "I don't want to leave you alone during the day time anymore – and as it is, while I'm at work, so are most of the slaves. How about in the evening?" she asks, looking at Dinah. "Most business stops for the night, except for the night time business, and most slaves get to go home."

"Especially the kids," Dinah agrees, considering OB-1. "And a man visiting a slave's house in the night is a little more common than them doing it at day time."

"I – beg your pardon?" OB-1 asks, sounding vaguely worried.

"Well you can't just pop in and out without reason, and you can't exactly come in to _teach_ us, now can you?" Dinah asks and gives him a look. "No, you'll come see a whore, same as any other man who patronises slaves."

Anakin thinks that if OB-1 could've, he probably would've choked at the words. "I – uh, I see," the android says, looking deeply uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, OB-1, but she's right – that's the reason why most freemen that visit slave quarters do it," Shmi says with an apologetic smile. "It won't raise any eyebrows."

"Even if you're too damn pretty to bother with whores, but each to his own," Dinah says, which only seems to make it worse for poor OB-1. "Anyway, you'll come in, we'll have Issa or Vid-Ny welcome you in, and it will look nothing out of the ordinary. And inside you can teach our kids without anyone being the wiser."

OB-1 nods slowly. "That sounds… agreeable," he says slowly. "How many students, exactly, are there? What ages are they?" he then asks.

"We'll see when the time comes – lot want to put their kids to lessons but they don't know if they want to risk it," Dinah says. "It might be one or two, or it might be all of them. We'll see when you'll start."

OB-1 nods again, even slower. "And what, exactly, do you want me to teach them?" he asks. "Merely self defence or…" He lets the words trail away and looks between Shmi and Dinah, searching.

The women exchange looks while Anakin eyes his hands. They're little red at the palms now, from all the pushups and stuff they do – they even have a bar to do pull ups on, and it's giving him whole new calluses. It's been just few days, but he swears he's already seeing the difference.

OB-1 is going to teach them to do more than just _defend_ themselves, that's given. What that _more_ entails though… Well, Jedi use weapons that burn through just about everything for a reason. And according to OB-1 you don't even need to burn through someone to kill them – all it takes is a blow to the right, or the wrong, place.

"Defence for now," Dinah says finally. "We'll see about the rest… after we've seen how the first few lessons have gone."

* * *

 

OB-1 starts out on his lessons with the slaves later that week. It's a little nerve wrecking to see him go out alone, with his hood pulled up and features hidden in its shadows. It's not the first time he's stepped out of the house alone, though usually the most he does is to take the trash to the communal recycler, or to get their allotted water from the vaporator.

"I don't like this," Anakin admits. "I don't like him going out alone." He knows that OB-1 can probably defend himself – he knows all the things Jedi know, he knows how to fight and stuff… but knowing it and _believing it_ are two different things. "I don't like it when he's not where I know he is, with the Holocron and all."

"Neither do I," Shmi admits quietly. "But we made OB-1 very well, and he's… capable," she sighs and shakes her head. "And the slaves will be watching out for him. It's not a long trek – he will be fine."

Still the hours OB-1 spends _elsewhere,_ teaching _other people_ are kind of terrible and nervous and neither Anakin nor Shmi can settle down or enjoy their evening, not until the android returns, some four hours later, just little after midnight.

"Oh please don't tell me you stayed up on my account," the android says, pushing his hood down as he enters the house.

"No can do," Anakin says. "Because we totally did."

"How did it go?" Shmi asks worriedly.

OB-1 considers her and then walks over to the wall where he usually sits, by the power outlet. They've set a cushion down for him and he takes a cross legged seat on it slowly, unwinding his power cable as he does. "It was… interesting," he says quietly.

"Good interesting or bad interesting?" Anakin asks. "Was anyone a bother, did they disrespect you?"

"No – nothing… nothing of the sort," OB-1 admits and frowns, looking up. "I don't think most of those children were told I'm a droid at all."

Anakin's eyebrows shoot up and he looks at Shmi who frowns a little. "It… makes sense, yes. Sometimes children aren't too good at keeping secrets," she says slowly. "How many were there?"

"Seven - the youngest six years old, the oldest thirteen," OB-1 says and plugs himself into the outlet. He tilts his head, waiting and then when his batteries begin recharging he turns to look at them. "I need to rework my lesson plans – teaching a larger group is… different," he admits. "I wasn't as well prepared for it as I thought."

Anakin arches an eyebrow. "It turned into playtime, didn't it?"

OB-1 chuckles. "I suppose so yes. The older students did pay attention, but the younger ones ended up chasing each other with sticks," he admits. Still he looks a little troubled somehow, and it's probably not just that his programming makes him a little unsuited for teaching actual classes.

"What is it?" Anakin asks. "Something happened?"

OB-1 hesitates. "I was told to teach the children self defence," he says hesitantly and looks at Shmi. "Do you think Dinah would mind if I taught them how to take a hit, instead?"

"I'm _sorry_?" Shmi asks, lifting her head sharply. "What do you mean by that?"

"Some of those children looked like they'd been beaten," OB-1 admits. "Repeatedly and recently. And when I tried to instruct them to practice blocks against each other's blows, some of them simply froze, and took the hits straight on instead of blocking them. To me it seemed as if they had been trained to not resist. When I told them to block the hits, one of them even started to cry."

He sounds utterly lost and confused when he says it.

"Oh," Shmi murmurs and sits back down, running a hand over her chin. Anakin looks down, uneasy.

Watto hadn't hit them, not much – only when he was really mad and even then it wasn't anywhere near as bad as some slaves got. Most slave masters felt the need to beat any hint of resistance out of their slaves, though, and they tended to be extra hard on the kids, to weed out rebelliousness before it had any chance of taking root.

"So, by taking a hit you mean…" Shmi trails off, looking troubled while Anakin frowns. It kinda sounds like OB-1 wants to teach the slaves to stand there and take it – which exactly what the slave masters want.

"I mean taking hits and blows in ways that both reduce the actual damage taken as well as make it seem outwardly worse than it actually is," OB-1 explains. "It's a skill of misdirection, to make a opponent think they are doing much more damage than they actually are."

Anakin and Shmi stare at him with surprise. "Jedi do that?" Anakin asks.

"Yes, though it's hardly a skill unique to them. In any martial arts knowing how to take the hit in a way that minimises the damage taken is vital," OB-1 explains and frowns a little. "I was meaning to teach it eventually to you as well as the slaves, once you had little more combat training done, but… now I think I should start with it instead."

Anakin looks at Shmi and then back at OB-1, who still looks troubled.

"Yeah, maybe you should," Shmi says. "No, you should – please," she says and nods. "They're your students and you should teach them what you think will benefit them."

OB-1 hesitantly looks up. "Is that… permitted?" he asks somewhat uneasily, glancing at Anakin.

Anakin folds his arms, looking at him. They'd given OB-1 a _lot_ of liberties when they'd made him, he's not chained by down most, or really _any_ of the things that hold most droids back. But he still is, inside… a droid. "We didn't make you to be our servant, OB-1. You're teacher with all the Jedi knowledge and everything," he says. "What do you think?"

The android stares at him and then looks at Shmi, looking worried. "I think I should teach them how to look after themselves," he says then, slow and careful. "In any way they can."

"So go forth and teach," Anakin says and waves a hand. "That's all there's to that."

"So as long as it's for their benefit, and isn't likely to put them in danger," Shmi adds quickly. "But yes - so as long as you have their best in mind… you should do as you think is best, OB-1."

The android looks between them and then nods. "I will," he says and bows his head. "Thank you."

* * *

 

With the excitement of OB-1's creation and all that, it's kind of funny how things settle afterwards. In the morning before Shmi heads to work, she and Anakin work on their physical exercises while OB-1 gives them a lesson on whatever he thinks they should learn next. Over the course of the day while Shmi works at the garage OB-1 works Anakin through other lessons, laying what he calls the groundwork for future lessons. Then, when Shmi comes back, they eat, they talk about their day – and then, in the early evening, they train.

Shmi gets them metal staves from the garage – they're little more than pipes really, which OB-1 instructs them to wrap with something soft. Then he walks them through the basic katas of the first form of lightsaber combat, Shien.

"The basis of all lightsaber combat is that lightsaber can deflect anything coming to it – and that it can cut the user as well as the attacker," the android says while taking a pose, holding his staff horizontal in front of him and waiting to copy his stance before moving to next one – and again waiting them to follow. "Shien is about learning to wield your weapon in a way that doesn't harm you – as well as how to utilise it in a way it's meant to be utilised."

"But we'll probably never use lightsabers," Shmi says, even as she follows him smoothly through the kata, to another stance.

"Respecting your weapon is still an important lesson to learn. Even stick of wood can slap you in the face, if you don't treat it right," OB-1 says with a smile. "Footwork, Anakin."

"What about blast reflection, how can we learn that?" Anakin asks, looking down at his feet and then at OB-1's and quickly fixing his footing.

"Jedi generally utilise a training droid, which shoots a low energy plasma bolts at them – too weak to do more than cause a mild burn if it hits," OB-1 says and glancing at him moves to another stance. "I don't know if there's an equivalent on Tatooine, but if nothing else I can flick pebbles at you for you to deflect."

"That sounds like fun, you lobbing rocks at us," Anakin snorts.

"Doesn't it? Shmi, watch your elbows – you're loosing strength of the swing when you hold them that low," OB-1 says.

And amidst all of it, they meditate. They meditate ten minutes every morning after breakfast before Shmi heads to work, they meditate first thing when she comes back, they meditate again after dinner and they meditate after combat training. Minimum of hour is spent meditation every day in small bursts – usually no longer than ten or fifteen minutes at a time, and thank _Force_ for that. Sitting still and trying not to think is not Anakin's favourite pass time.

"Don't try to not think, that's not how it works. No one can just force their minds to be quiet by choosing – that in and of itself is thinking too," OB-1 says, his voice soft and droning as he talks them through it, strangely reminiscent to how Qui-Gon did it. "Just let your thoughts come and go as they will, don't try to hold onto them or examine them, just let them slip from our mind as they will…"

Shmi is better at it than Anakin is – but that's not really a surprise. She likes all the more cerebral stuff. The fighting and combat stuff, though, that she doesn't enjoy so much – so Anakin is better there.

"Don't expect to be on par with each other," OB-1 warns them, often. "Every student is different and you're divided by age too. Shmi is an adult, so naturally she will be physically stronger and mentally more settled, but as a child Anakin will be naturally more limber and quicker to learn. There is really no point in comparison."

Not that they really do, much. Anakin does a little maybe, but just a little. It's not like he's in competition against his own _mom_ … even if it does make him feel a bit better about meditation and philosophy and stuff that he's better at combat training.

He kind of wishes he could see how OB-1's other students are doing, though.

Every evening, the android sets out for the Quarter Row to teach various forms of self defence to the slaves there. After the few lessons on _how to take a hit_ and whatnot, it sounds like it's not just kids learning from him anymore – adults are taking the lessons too. They've started utilising the biggest apartments in the Row and still not everyone fits into the lessons, so there's a sort of rotation going now, with different classes of students every other day, learning from OB-1.

"Are you teaching them what you're teaching us?" Anakin asks, trying not to feel jealous, but… still kinda wishing he could see how it goes in the Quarter Row. He's never allowed to go with OB-1, because of how they're making the whole thing look on the outside – it would be weird for OB-1 to have a kid with him. Still…

"Not quite," OB-1 admits and smiles. "They are getting something of a crash course – your lessons are far more in depth."

Which cheers Anakin up a little – at least until he spots a slave from the Quarter Row, a elderly male slave who he thinks works in one of the many junk yards, meditating under the early morning sun.

"What are you doing?" Anakin demands.

"What was that?" the man asks, sputtering himself out of the meditation and then scowling at him. "I was _thinking."_

"No, you were –"

"I was thinking very hard - mind your own business," the man harrumphs at him and then settles back into position – feet crossed, hands held loose on his knees with palms up. He breathes in and out and then, ignoring Anakin's gaping entirely, closes his eyes and goes back to meditating.

OB-1, when Anakin confronts him about it, doesn't even bother to look guilty. "I'm teaching them what I think they can use to take care of themselves," he says without hint of remorse.

"You're teaching them how to meditate!" Anakin snaps, jealous and weirdly betrayed. "Like a Jedi!"

"More people than just the Jedi meditate, Anakin," the android says calmly. "And it's helpful for more people than just the Force sensitive."

"But – it's not self defence, it's not – there's no point teaching them Jedi arts, they're not Force Sensitive," Anakin says and folds his arms. "How is it helpful for them? They can't ever use the Force!"

OB-1 eyes him curiously. "Perhaps not like a Jedi, no. But with training anyone can do a healing trance," he says then. "Everyone has some measure of Force within them, and a healing trance is less about the Force and more about mental discipline and channelling one's internal energies. But to do a healing trance, you need to know how to meditate."

Anakin hesitates at that. "Healing trance," he repeats. "That's – that's the thing Jedi can do, to heal themselves when they're injured?"

OB-1 nods slowly. "It's not a Jedi specific ability," he says. "Anyone can learn it, with practice and dedication. And meditation itself is hardly a detrimental way to spend one's time."

Anakin looks down. "Oh," he says, now feeling a bit guilty. "Um… what can the healing trance do?" he then asks, shifting his footing a little. "It can heal bruises, right?"

"It can also lessen the impact of some illnesses, help you fight off infection – it can ease the side effects of old injuries, help with chronic pain…" OB-1 trails off and shakes his head. "It has great many benefits."

"Oh," Anakin says again, quieter. "Yeah, I… I can see how that would be useful," he murmurs. Especially to slaves – who get injured all the time, and who when they get sick never get any medicine or care. Best they can do is patch themselves up and walk it off – or… like it usually tends to go… die.

OB-1 watches him silently as Anakin squirms with guilt. "Why were you so angry?" the android asks then, his voice gentle. "Don't you want others to learn Jedi arts?"

Anakin winces and slouches his shoulders a little – or does, until OB-1 reaches out to flick a finger at his shoulder, silently telling him to straighten up. Sighing, Anakin does. "I – I shouldn't, but we made you for me and mom and… and of course I want others to learn too, knowledge is power, knowledge is strength, it should be free, but…"

Anakin squirms under OB-1's patient gaze. "But I made you for me," Anakin mutters, looking away.

OB-1 says nothing for a moment, just watching him. Then he crouches down slowly, shifting the beige robes as he does to keep the more angular bits of his knees well covered. "I am yours, Anakin," he says. "As much as I have an owner, it's you."

"Oh, ugh, that just makes me feel _worse,"_  Anakin grumbles and pushes at his shoulder. "You're not a _possession_ , you're a –"

"A droid," OB-1 says quietly.

Anakin huffs a frustrated breath at that. "But you're not, really," he mutters and looks away.

OB-1 watches him silently and then follows his gaze – to the doorway to Anakin's bedroom, where, across the room, they can see C-3PO, still without coverings, powered down on Anakin's desk. Anakin looks the unfinished droid over and then looks at OB-1, who looks back, his expression blank.

"You made me, I'm the first thing you made after being freed. So, I should be yours," OB-1 guesses. "But I look human and slavery is wrong."

Anakin makes a face and shrugs. That's not it – except maybe it is, but it's not all of it. "I guess I'm just being stupid," he mutters.

"No, you're being a child – no, don't take it as an insult," OB-1 chuckles when Anakin throws him an offended look. "You are a child, Anakin. Children are a little selfish, it's alright. No one expects you to have an adult's sensibilities yet, that would be cruel. You're allowed to be child and you're allowed to be little nonsensical and little greedy. It's alright."

"I shouldn't," Anakin mutters and gives him a suspicious look. "Where are you getting this from? It's not in the programming."

OB-1 coughs. "I have gotten some tips on how to manage children from the mothers of the Row," he admits. "It's been… useful when teaching. And the Jedi order have been dealing with children for centuries, there is more than enough data to extrapolate from."

Anakin makes a face. "Guess that makes sense," he mutters and looks down at his feet. "I don't want to be selfish though," he mutters. "It just makes me feel like poodoo afterwards."

"Well I know the trick for that," OB-1 says, smiling a little.

"Is it meditation?" Anakin asks suspiciously.

"I'm afraid so," OB-1 chuckles. "Mental discipline, it affects everything you do."

"Ugh," Anakin answers, wavering where he stands. "You're more than a droid, you know," Anakin says. "And you've never been just a droid. And I shouldn't get mad about you doing things on your own when we told you to do it, I'm sorry about that."

OB-1 smiles and pats his shoulder, standing up. "It's alright, Anakin. I'm not mad and I'm not judging you."

"Well, you never do, really," Anakin mutters and sighs. Then, after moment of hesitation. "Am I at least better at meditation than the others?" he asks.

"Now that I will judge you for," OB-1 says and gives him a pointed look. "Because that's beneath you. It's not a race and it's not a competition – everyone learns at their own pace you know."

Anakin sighs, heavier. "Fine," he groans. "I'll shut up now."

"Come on, let's meditate," OB-1 chuckles and ushers him towards the cushions, where they usually meditate.

* * *

 

If OB-1 teaches the slaves more Jedi arts, Anakin decides he's better off not knowing – it just makes him feel weird and jealous and then guilty and he knows OB-1 is teaching them all at the pace they can take, helping them master skills and abilities they're ready to master – it really isn't a race. He is learning as he can and that's matters.

And if he sometimes gets a little jealous when he runs into a slave doing bit of meditation or running themselves through calming breathing exercises on the streets of Tatooine, well… he knows how to do calming breathing exercises too.

If the whole thing ever bothers his mother, Shmi never shows it. She learns at her own pace and she never seems jealous of when Anakin outpaces her, or when OB-1 has to cut a lesson with her short because it's time for him to head to the Row. The only frustration she has seems to be with her own back and legs – despite all the stretching she does, she is not attaining the level of limberness she is looking for.

Healing trance, when they finally start learning it, helps a bunch though – and not just with Shmi's problems with her back but with… kind of everything, really. Muscle strain from exercises, pulled muscles when they happened, twists and sprains, but also bruises from training now that they're starting to actually spar.

It's right thing for OB-1 to teach it to the slaves, Anakin thinks and believes it too. Everyone should learn it, really, since it's so useful. And if everything else OB-1 teaches the slaves is like that then… yeah. Still he's better of not knowing, probably. Less chance to be jerk about it.

Anakin is finding it a little harder to not be a jerk as time goes on. He doesn't know what it is, but he gets irritated so easily, and it's especially more noticeable now that he's trying _not to be_ irritated and angry and jealous. It just pops up, seemingly from nowhere – something happens, it doesn't even have to be anything bad, and he just gets mad.

"Is it Force doing that?" Anakin asks worriedly. "The Jedi said I'm too big of a risk, because I'm old, that if I'm training I'm likely to fall. Is it Force that's making me angry?"

"No," OB-1 laughs. "No, it's not the Force – it's puberty."

"What," Anakin says flatly. "No. But. _No_."

"I'm afraid so," OB-1 says with apologetic smile and ruffles his hair. "Just take a deep breath to calm yourself whenever you get mad and remember – it's not you, it's hormones."

" _Ugh_ ," Anakin groans in answer.

* * *

 

Thankfully with hormones come also grow spurts and Anakin finally, _finally_ stops being a Force-damned pipsqueak, shooting up in height seemingly overnight. So, there's something good about it, at least. Except then, then they have a new problem.

"It's starting to get a little crowded here," Shmi murmurs, as they stand across from each other with their training staves held up. There's marks on the ceiling now from missed blows and the walls have been somewhat scuffed up.

"Can't we go outside maybe?" Anakin asks, glancing between her and OB-1 who is watching over their sparring. "The suns are going down, it's not so hot anymore. We could fight in front, by the vaporator."

"Hmm, I don't know…" Shmi says hesitantly, glancing at OB-1.

"You're not slaves," OB-1 says quietly. "No one can forbid your hobbies or habits, if they don't hurt anyone else."

"True, but… it might draw attention."

Anakin lowers his stave a little, looking between them. So far all their stuff is kept within closed doors, and as far as anyone – who isn't a slave and thus in the know – knows, OB-1 is just a layabout who lives in their house and smooches off Shmi's pay check. To take it outside now and let people see what's really going on…

"From what I've seen around here so far… people get curious of new things at first, but they get used to oddities quickly," OB-1 says thoughtfully. "No one so much as blinks about me anymore, and one can't call my habits commonplace. Yes, it would draw attention for you to spar outside, it first, but if you keep at it regularly, then eventually…"

"People grow bored and it becomes commonplace," Shmi murmurs.

"We can't keep this indoors forever," Anakin says. "And I'm definitely not going to hide this forever – and besides… if people know we know how to fight, they're little less likely to ever mess with us."

"A valid point," OB-1 comments.

"You think this is a good idea?" Shmi asks, looking between them worriedly.

OB-1 looks at Anakin and then back at Shmi. "I think it's inevitable," he says simply. "It is getting too crowded to keep this up indoors, I'm afraid. It's even worse in the Slave Quarters Row, where rooms are more crowded still. I can't say there won't be setbacks – especially not if others take your example and start training outside, but… it might set a positive precedent in the long run."

Shmi frowns a little and OB-1 stands up.

"Come on, mom," Anakin says, resting his training stave against his shoulder. "I'm starting to feel cramped here. Let's just go outside."

She hesitates a moment longer, looking at him and OB-1 and then back at him. Then she sighs. "Alright," she says quietly. "Alright."

They go outside.

The double suns have already set behind the buildings so the small, dusty yard in front of the row of houses where they live is already growing cooler. While OB-1 considers the buildings around them, their shuttered windows with light screening from them, Anakin stretches out his arms and feels taller and prouder he ever has.

With the training stave in his hand, and his mother standing by his side with her exercise clothes on, rather than the modest skirts she usually wears outside…  It makes him feel nervous and anxious and eager and _proud_ to be outside, like this, to _train_ for all the world to see.

"Alright, then," OB-1 says and goes to sit by the communal water vaporator to watch over their sparring, where he won't get in their way. "Let's try this again. Take stance, about seven meters apart – and bow."

Seven meters – that's lot more than they got get indoors.

Anakin moves to place and his mother stands across from him, both holding their staves to their side. They breathe in and out, and then bow to each other.

"Begin," OB-1 says – and they spar.

That first day they don't get much in way of audience, though some people peek through their windows to watch the weird Skywalkers flailing their sticks at each other. They don't stay outdoors for long, just about an hour before OB-1 has to head to the Quarters Row, but it's definitely long enough to be noticed, long enough to word to spread around about it the next day.

When they head out to spar again outside, this time both of them against OB-1 who holds them back with a stave in each hand, then… then they get an audience. People trickle in from the pourstone houses around them then from the alleys behind them, to form a distant ring of spectators a they fight against their teacher, who holds them back easily.

"Good, now, Anakin, go low," OB-1 says and Anakin does as asked, going at his feet. "Shmi, can you spot the opening in my defence now? Make use of it – good, okay, again, faster – good, just like that."

It's a comfortable rhythm of cushioned staves snapping against each other, with OB-1's direction and guidance flowing between the beat of blows as he guides them from one attack pattern to another. It's so familiar and so comfortable that Anakin completely blocks out the audience they have – never noticing how quiet and attentive they are, and how many kids end up watching them from the shadows.

He never notices how many are recording the spectacle in their datapads for later viewing.

* * *

 

And then, eventually, _finally_ … they learn about the Force.

Well, they have been learning about the Force since the beginning, what it is, where it comes from, what people believe about it and how they use it – but that's nothing compared to the day when OB-1 looks at them and decides it's time they learn how to _use_ it.

"Like with mind tricks?" Anakin asks eagerly.

"Let's try something a little simpler at first," OB-1 says and produces two large feathers he'd gotten from who knows where – from the slaves probably. He sets them in front of Anakin and Shmi. "Telekinesis is the easiest Force ability there is to learn, so that's what we'll start with."

"Levitation?" Shmi asks, surprised.

"Shut _up_ ," Anakin says, wide eyed. "We're going to learn to make things float?!"

"Yes," OB-1 says and motions to the feathers. "It's easiest to start with something light that doesn't take much effort, so… Are you ready?"

"Hell yes," Anakin says and eagerly moves forward. "How do we do this?"

"With concentration and mental discipline," OB-1 says and moves to stand behind them. "Now, concentrate your will on the feather, and make it float."

"Just like that?" Anakin asks, glancing up at him.

"If I've done my job right here, yes… just like that," OB-1 says and gives him a look. "I haven't spent ages teaching you how to meditate just right for nothing, you know. Now concentrate onto the feather."

Anakin looks at him searchingly for a moment and – yeah, he's totally serious. Turning his eyes to the front, the boy takes a breath and then concentrates onto the feather like he, trying to calm his mind down like he does with meditation, letting his thoughts and feelings flow until…

The feather jerks up into the air, just a meter or so, and it's so sudden and surprising that Anakin's concentration breaks instantly. Stunned, he watches the feather float back to the table.

"Kriffin hell," Anakin breathes.

"Well done," OB-1 says, patting his shoulders proudly. "Now do it again and keep it in air. Shmi, you too."

"R-right," she says, her eyes on Anakin's feather for a moment before she smiles brightly. "That was brilliant, Ani! Marvellously done!"

"Yeah," he grins, nudging her shoulder, and together they concentrate onto the task of making the feathers fly. And OB-1 has all the reason to be proud about it – turns out he has done his job very well.

They both succeed in their first attempts of levitation and by the end of the lesson, they're making the feathers _fly_ all around the kitchen, controlling them with their will and thoughts alone. And it is, beyond doubt, really freaking _amazing_.

"From here on out, telekinesis practice will become part of daily meditation, to help you flex your ability to communicate and manipulate the Force," OB-1 tells them. "Very well done, both of you. Very well done indeed."

* * *

 

Sometimes, Anakin wonders if OB-1 is ever sad or bitter about not being able to use the Force himself. He never says anything about it, and it doesn't seem to hinder his ability to teach about it, what with all the files and personal experiences written down by thousands of Jedi he has to draw from, but still… sometimes Anakin wonders.

He never dares to ask, though.

All in all OB-1 seems happy and satisfied with his lot in life – or existence, anyway. He seems to enjoy teaching and he knows his stuff, and some of that is starting to come from experience rather than just from what data he has. The lessons at the Slave Quarters Row are helping too, Anakin can tell. He's becoming… more than just his programming.

And one can't say he's not one hell of a fighter. All the data about Jedi martial arts, OB-1 has internalised it to perfection, and he even seems to enjoy presenting them to the world. And though sometimes he does end up tearing a bit of skin or wrenching a joint when doing some of the wilder Jedi combat tricks in demonstration, overall he is masterful at both managing the many styles of lightsaber combat - and keeping them to somewhat natural limits.

He's stronger than humans are, though. As an android, he has a lifting and carrying capacity more fitting for an average speeder – and he could crush a man's skull with his fingers alone, if needed. OB-1's body is a machine and it's not a weak one. But he makes it seem so human that sometimes… sometimes it's easy to forget.

Anakin has never been so aware of both the strength OB-1 has and his terrible vulnerability, than when an angry slave owner marches right into their sparring session on the street, and demand to know what is going on.

"What is the meaning of this nonsense?" a human man demands to know, resting a hand over a blaster and glaring between Shmi, Anakin and OB-1 – their many spectators having all but disappeared at the sight of the newcomers. "What do you think you're doing?"

"It's called sparring," Shmi says quietly. "It's a physical exercise."

"And why are you doing it outside, like this, hm?!" the man demands, glaring at her down his nose. "You're rousing up the slaves!"

Anakin grips his stave harder and behind them OB-1 stands up from his usual spot by the vaporator. "Now, now, there is no need to be hostile," the android says. "We were only having a spot of fun, no one is being roused up."

"And who the hell are you – and can't control your bitch?"

"Excuse me?" Anakin growls, and his skin grinds against the stave's length as he twists his grip.

"Anakin," Shmi says in warning.

The slave owner narrows his eyes at them and then turn to OB-1. "Take this fucking nonsense out of the streets," he orders. "Right _now._ "

"Or you'll what?" Anakin asks angrily.

"Excuse me?" the man demands, whirling to him.

"Say we don't take our fucking nonsense off the streets, what will you do then, you bastard?"

"Why you little brat, someone ought to – "

The fist that comes at Anakin stops against OB-1's palm with an audible crack and the slave owner lets out a yelp of pain. "Oh my sincere apologies," OB-1 says, very mild, while the man clutches at his hand, staring horrified at his dislocated finger. "Terribly sorry, I didn't think you were aiming to hit quite so hard. Is it bad?”

"My finger! You fucking son of a – I will – _you_ –" the slave owner growls and goes for his blaster.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Shmi asks, her voice cracking like a whip as she holds up her stave. "Are you _sure_?"

The slave owner stops, turning to look at her – and then looking at Anakin, also holding a stave, and then at OB-1 who is idly adjusting his black gloves. "You're going to pay for this!" the man growls. "I'll see to it, you'll pay for this, you'll pay for my fucking finger –"

"Why on earth would we do that?" OB-1 asks calmly.

"You're the one who came at us swinging, it's your own damn fault you got hurt, idiot," Anakin snorts.

"We'll _see_ about that," the slave owner growls. "You just wait, you bastard, you just wait and _see._ "

They watch the man hurry away, clutching onto his hand and then share a look between themselves. Shmi looks terribly worried and Anakin feels a sort of hollow feeling of _oh shit._  OB-1 isn't looking at them though.

"Anakin, Shmi," OB-1 says sharply and steps back a little, to stand between them. "Concentrate onto the Force, now, and put your staves up."

The tone of voice he uses immediately stops Anakin into a sort of half alert training more and he automatically shifts his stance a little – and then his instincts _scream._

He and his mother move in unison, one on each side of OB-1, and the first plasma blast that races towards hits Anakin's stave making the padding around it burn, while the second meets Shmi's stave and does the same. The whole thing happens so fast, like it's happening completely on it's own, somewhere far away, beyond their control, and Anakin doesn't even realise what just happened.

The slave owner shot at them – and they stopped it. They _stopped_ it.

The slave owner stares at them, still holding the blaster in his lone healthy hand, his eyes widening in horror. Anakin looks between his smoking stave and then the slave owner. "Of, you son of a – come back here, asshole, I'm going to kick your ass!"

Now the slave owner turns around on his heel – _now_ he runs away, ignoring Anakin's shouting entirely, all bluster and boasting forgotten.

“Asshole,” Anakin spits after him

"Well done," OB-1 comments faintly. "And all without training in blast reflection. Very well done indeed.

"Oh dear," Shmi says, staring at her smoking stave. "He shot at us. You knew he would shoot at us and he shot at us. He _shot at us."_

"And yet we're not dead," Anakin says and grins ferociously through the sudden bout of nervous excitement and terror that comes, somehow all too late. Anxious and weirdly over energized, he swings the stave in his hand. "We knew it would come to this – and we're not dead."

"There will be more of them," OB-1 comments and Shmi lets out a sound of horrified objection.

"Freaking let them come," Anakin scoffs. "We'll kick all their asses!"


	5. Chapter 5

Qui-Gon stared at the bronze bust of his master, trying to consolidate this new reality he exists in.

His master had left the Jedi Order.

It had been a long time in coming – Master Dooku had been dissatisfied with the Jedi order for longer than Qui-Gon had been, but he had been less keen on trying to change it. According to him, he'd tried and he'd failed enough times to know the futility of his actions.

"The Jedi High Council is set on their ways – I am done trying to sneak in some new ideas into their midst," Qui-Gon's master had said, as Qui-Gon stood back and watched him pace. "We look more and more inward, seeking solutions within ourselves while around us the galaxy changes – and the Jedi Order isn't keeping up, Qui-Gon. It will never catch up at this rate."

Qui-Gon wishes he could argue with that – and in some points he can, at least, compromise with… but Master Dooku is more right than he is righteous in this case.

The galaxy is changing. Times are changing. The Senate… is changing. It's a subtle but inexorable shift from diplomacy to policy, from negotiations to settlements instead. People are getting less and less likely to talk their issues over and more and more likely to simply patch them up with money. And where that money comes from…

Subtly increased taxes where it doesn't seem to matter and yet where it makes a striking, earth-shattering impact. There is an unerring sense of _discontent_ in the air in every meeting of the Republic Senate and it is only getting worse. And in the meanwhile the Jedi…

Qui-Gon tucks his hands into his sleeves, considering the bust of his master. It is the latest of now twenty busts in total – the Lost Nineteen have thusly become the Lost Twenty, with Master Dooku the latest grim reminder that even Jedi Master can fail in their ideals. Fail – like it was weakness of character that drove Master Dooku to depart.

Perhaps it was. Master Dooku had given up on them, instead choosing to continue on his long, arduous work of trying to force some sort of changes in their increasingly aged and traditional order. That, Qui-Gon can see as failure on his Master's part, and that he can even judge him for. Master Dooku had looked on the whole of the Jedi Order and deemed it unsalvageable. He himself can't go that far – and yet…

Yet there is a kernel of truth in Dooku's actions, in his words, and Qui-Gon is himself old enough and perhaps even wise enough to admit that it frightens him.

"It won't change the longer you stare at it," a warm female voice speaks and Qui-Gon looks over his shoulder to see Madame Jocasta walking over, handful of data disks in hand.

"No, I'm afraid it won't," Qui-Gon agrees and shakes his head. "What a time to be living in, for one of our most venerable Masters to walk away like this."

"There are always diverse opinions," Madame Jocasta says, moving around him to put the disk to their rightful places on the long shelves behind Dooku's bronze bust. "There are always those who will seek to find wisdom and meaning outside the order's teaching. Your Master is the latest, but he won't be the last."

Qui-Gon looks down at that grim pronouncement and then runs a hand over his chin. Then he watches as Jocasta takes out few more disks from the shelves. She's frowning. "Is something the matter?" he asks curiously. It's rare for the disks to be actually physically moved from the shelves – everything on them is accessible by the terminals.

"It is quicker to scan them by hand," Jocasta admits, looking at the endless rows of faintly glowing disks over. "I'm having a handful of analysis droids going over the security data of the Archives – I'm afraid we've had a bit of an incident."

"An incident?" Qui-Gon repeats.

"Yes – an artefact went missing from a display case some time ago," Jocasta says and nods over, to the other side of the terminal tables. Qui-Gon looks – even at a distance he can see the crystalline puzzle pieces of a holocron in construction. "It was just the one thing, so no one even noticed until a young padawan started doing an essay on holocron construction and found a piece missing on the display case."

"You think someone took it?" Qui-Gon asks as they walk over to the display case. All the various stages of construction are still there – but the finished product is missing.

"Someone must have, it certainly cannot have been an accident seeing as none of the other pieces are disturbed," Jocasta says and shakes her head. "I suppose it could've been taken away for study by someone and then they forgot to return – I just wish they had informed me of it first."

Qui-Gon hums, running a hand over his beard. "Holocrons are very valuable," he comments idly. Even as a curiosity one could fetch a high price with the right buyer. And for someone strong in the Force, one who could activate the thing…

"Holocrons are, yes," Jocasta says and shakes her head. "This was hardly a proper holocron."

"How do you mean?" Qui-Gon asks, looking over to her. "I remember it – it looked very much like a holocron to me."

"It was made by a droid for display only," Jocasta explains. "It didn't actually function."

"Ah," Qui-Gon says and nods. With no Force applied in its construction, it would be holocron in name only. "Perhaps someone did take it then."

"But who, that is the thing," Madame Jocasta says and sighs, looking down to the disks in her hands. "Back to scanning, then – or was there something you needed Master Jinn?"

"Ah, no, thank you, I just…" Qui-Gon glances back at the bust of his Master. "I just wanted some peace and quiet with my thoughts."

"I'll leave you to it, then," Madame Jocasta nods, but hesitates before going. "Your Master Dooku left behind great many writings and essays, and quite the litany of poetry and many treatises besides," she comments. "You might find your answers better there, rather than in your own head."

"Perhaps I will. Thank you, Madame," Qui-Gon says and bows his head, waiting until the librarian had bustled off, before turning back to examining Dooku's bust.

It doesn't look much like his master – it captures only his most striking features and little of his actual presence, Qui-Gon muses, and takes a seat in one of the terminals, feeling a moment of déjà vu. He'd been here, some time ago, at this exact terminal – with Master Dooku, perhaps? It was likely.

Sighing, Qui-Gon leans forward, resting his elbows on the smooth table and lowering his eyes from the bust to the terminal. There is little of Dooku's writings he has yet to read – he tends to look them over whenever his Master had added more, and over the years there had indeed been great many writings by his Master added to the archives. Each increasingly more pointed than the next as Dooku had grown more and more frustrated with the High Council.

Qui-Gon can't say he hasn't felt the same. Like the senate that had gotten more and more bureaucratic with its many committees and hearings that seemingly got nowhere, meetings and reportings to the Jedi High Council seemed to…

Sighing Qui-Gon runs a hand over his head and not for the first time he thinks of that moment, that hopeful bright moment when he'd stood before the Council with Anakin Skywalker at his side, for a moment looking forward to a future ahead of him, ahead of them. Anakin Skywalker, he felt, was the key to a change in the Jedi Order – such brightness of Force coming so far outside their ranks, coming to them so late, from such hard beginnings and still so unerringly kind and giving… it was a sign, he'd felt.

"No, he won't be trained," Master Windu's words still seem to echo like from a cold, frozen distance, somewhere below the ice. "He is too old."

Too old. Hah. Qui-Gon had looked into the history of their order and once there had been a time when they'd accepted students as old as thirty and forty and older, students with wives and husbands and children. Too old. When, precisely, had age restriction been written into their code? He hadn't been able to pinpoint it in time – only now it's there, another unspoken tradition, another thing that Code of mere thirty six words somehow managed to pin point and name and forbid.

Running a hand over his face, Qui-Gon looks down and then remembers when he'd sat here last – only he had, he'd sat in the seat beside this one… when he'd shown Anakin around the Jedi Temple in hopes that the boy might, miraculously, resign himself to less than what he was promised.

Had Anakin stayed maybe Qui-Gon could have still taught him. The Council could forbid him from training the boy as a Jedi, perhaps, but if Anakin had stayed within the temple then nothing, really, could have stopped Qui-Gon from seeing him occasionally, and helping him with whatever issues he might have with whatever things he might want to learn… Like, say, meditation perhaps.

But instead, Anakin had sat there and the first thing he'd searched had been the planet where he'd come from. All Qui-Gon had needed was the intense look in his eyes as he read about the slavery on Tatooine to know, the boy would never resign himself to sitting back and doing nothing.

That only makes the loss of him that much more marked.

Qui-Gon reaches forward and activates the terminal, inserting his code in and accessing the database. Slowly, letter by letter, he types out, _Tatooine_ and waits for the results to come up, wondering what Anakin might be doing now. Had he and Shmi found their footing, are they working now? Maybe Anakin is working on a new pod racer – considering how good the boy was at the sport, it could be a viable source of income for their family… if a terribly dangerous one.

Qui-Gon narrows his eyes and looks up at the bust of his Master again.

His master leaving the order… that could be construed as perfectly justifiable reason to take a small sabbatical, wouldn't it?

* * *

 

"See right through you, I do," Yoda tells him wryly while walking beside him towards the launch pad. "Ship manifest I saw. To Tatooine you are going."

"I will take my sabbatical where I deem it suitable," Qui-Gon says calmly, not bothering to even try and fake any sort of guilt.

Yoda gives him a look and then shakes his head. "Defiance from you I need not, Qui-Gon," he mutters. "Difficult enough things have been, need it from you I do not."

Qui-Gon says nothing, looking ahead instead. If Dooku's departure hit him hard, how must it hit Yoda then, who was Dooku's Master in turn? Chances are Yoda wouldn't have another Padawan – it had been decades since he taught Dooku and he hadn't taken another, and it was for a good reason. Their Grand Master was old, too old for missions of the sort that were required of a teaching Master, arduous and taxing and dangerous.

"Apologies," Qui-Gon allows, though he can't really be sorry for being defiant – there's a reason _why_ he's defiant, just as there was a reason for Dooku's departure and _both_ can be laid at the feet of the Jedi High Council.

"Hrm," Yoda answers, unimpressed. "Dissatisfied you are, and dissatisfied you have been for long time. Fear the council does that lose you too we will, and I fear loss even greater than that of my Padawan it will be."

"My master is a great thinker," Qui-Gon object. "And a very wise Jedi."

"Yes yes, but a great believer he was not," Yoda admits wryly. "Faith he did not have, deny that you can't. Hope he did not for a better future. Hope you do. Wisdom we have in plenty – up to our ears in our wisdom we are. Hope rare is. Hope need we do more than wisdom."

Qui-Gon frowns a little at that, surprised despite himself. "Hope," he answers, somewhat disbelieving. Like the hope he had in displaying Anakin Skywalker to them, the hope the High Council then squashed by denying him?

Yoda looks up at him and scoffs, looking ahead. "Stuck in our ways we have become," he mutters and looks up. "Know this I do, know this the council does. Bleary our vision becomes, see we do not what our goals are. Serve the Republic, bah, follow the code, _bah."_

Taken aback a little by the outward bitterness, Qui-Gon stares at the old Grand Master in something like shock. Dooku's departure really must have hit him hard, to bring _this_ forth. "Master Yoda…" he says, a little loss for words.

"Matter it does not, now," Yoda mutters and shakes his head, peering up at him. "Your return to the temple, may we expect – or lose will we you too, to visions seen outside the shroud of the Jedi Order?"

Qui-Gon blinks at that and then, glancing up at the spaceship waiting for him, he goes down on one knee to face the old Grand Master at his level. "I would not abandon our order lightly, Master Yoda" he says. "My master might have given up on it but I still have faith in us."

Yoda looks at him warily, peering up at his face, looking between his eyes. "Vision I have seen of Tatooine," he admits. "Something stirs there, something brighter than what see I can in the heart of Coruscant. Sweep you away it might, like swept away my Padawan was by politics."

Qui-Gon swallows. Anakin, he thinks. "I would not leave lightly," he says again, quieter.

He would leave, though, if he could see no better alternative. He would do as he must, to follow the Will of the Force. Right now he can't see that Will taking him away from the Jedi Order, but if it would… he can't say he wouldn't follow its calling.

Yoda seems to see it on his face, for he sighs, heavy and forlorn. "Hundreds of years seen I have of Jedi prosperity and strength and change," he says and looks away. "Shift and evolve the Order always does. When set in its ways it becomes or too far from its goals it moves, a shift occurs that adjusts its course. That shift I sense now. Wish I do now… that sense it before I might have."

Qui-Gon bows his head a little, trying to fathom to length of time and wealth of experience Yoda speaks from – and not for the first time, failing. He's been a Jedi all his life, well over sixty years now – and Yoda had been old when he'd been young.

"And you think I'm part of this shift?" Qui-Gon asks.

"Warning signs I see," Yoda admits and looks at him. "A warning sign Dooku is, and a loud one he is too. A step towards the shift you might be – or another warning sign. Lose you I wish we will not, but if lose you we do know I will that change coming to the Jedi Order once more is."

Qui-Gon swallows. "I'm only taking a sabbatical."

"In Tatooine," Yoda says flatly. "Where leave you did your chosen one. Yes, only a sabbatical it is."

The old Grand Master shakes his head and looks up to the awaiting freighter, where one of the crew has step outside and is impatiently waiting for his passenger. "Go, Master Qui-Gon," Yoda says. "And May the Force be with you."

Qui-Gon nods slowly and stands up. "May the Force be with you as well, Master," he says and bows his head low.

Yoda nods and turns to leave – but stops momentarily to say, "And well I wish for you, and for young Skywalker, should you choose to not return," he says, looking both determined and conflicted. "Farewell, Master Qui-Gon."

* * *

 

Tatooine hasn't changed. Perhaps it never does – it is not as if a desert planet's climate ever truly changes and Tatooine isn't even so lucky as to enjoy a rain season of any sort. It is all year around, no winter to mark a difference in seasons – in fact, Qui-Gon rather doubts there are any seasons at all. It is hot, dry and dusty, perhaps forever.

And yet he does sense a shift in the air, a very minute current of something… _new_. As he steps away from the docks where the freighter he'd bought his seat on is being unloaded of its cargo, Qui-Gon tilts his head and tries to grasp at the change. It feels as if… there is a breath of wind in the air, very quiet, almost imperceptible, but very much there.

Thinking of Yoda's warnings, Qui-Gon heads forward, wondering where to begin his search for Shmi and Anakin. Watto, he thinks, might be a key to finding them, except… at this point they would have little reason to having anything to do with their former owner. The slave quarters, he thinks then. It is much more likely he can find some news of his acquaintances in the slave quarters.

Mos Espa looks much the same, even with the undercurrent of _change._ Pourstone buildings covered in desert dust. It's late in the morning, approaching the noon time and already the light is getting oppressive – the pale buildings are starting to shine under the light of the binary suns above. Already people are scarce in the streets as they hurry for cover indoors. Soon, the heat would climb to intolerable levels, soon the light would get blinding. It already strains his eyes.

Quietly Qui-Gon lifts his hood up to shield from the light of the double suns and tucking his cloak shut he hurries along the increasingly empty streets, towards the slave quarters. There are few more people there – couple of children with goggles and scarves over the heads getting water from the communal vaporators, an elderly twi-lek woman hurrying with basket of recent purchases to get them inside…

"Excuse me," Qui-Gon calls to her. She's heading for the row of pourstone buildings where Anakin and Shmi at least used to live – perhaps she might know them. "Pardon me – can I ask you a –?"

"Obi-Wan? What the hell are you –" the twi-lek woman trails away, squinting up at him with through the increasing glare of light all around them. "You're not Obi-Wan. You're too tall."

"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon offers, confused. "I was wondering if I could ask –"

"It's almost noon, you know," the woman snaps. "Decent people would be indoors by now – what are you on about, holding me back like this?"

"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon says, more pointed. "Do you know Anakin and Shmi Skywalker? I'm looking for them."

The woman stops at that, considers him and then glares at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she harrumphs, obviously and offensively lying, and turns to leave.

"I think you do," Qui-Gon says slowly, somewhat suspiciously.

"And I think you need to mind your own damn business," the woman snaps. "Now excuse me, I am going to get indoors before I go blind out here. Good _day_."

Qui-Gon is left staring after the woman – a slave, no doubt, and a very strong spoken and forceful one at that. How peculiar – he'd rather gotten the impression slaves were, by necessity of their own survival and well treatment, more meek in nature…

He's standing alone under the glare of the two suns now, and everything around him is lit in unearthly, blinding glow. Squinting a little, Qui-Gon tucks his hood lower, until it covers his eyes entirely and then looks around for shade. Double noon in Tatooine lasts for about an hour – it's going to only get hotter and brighter. He needs to find some shade.

He finds it in an alleyway not far from the Slave Row, where two buildings stand close to each other. Above, the buildings' rooftops are connected by few ramshackle walkways, which create some measure of shade into the tight space. With a sigh, Qui-Gon stands there, in that shadow – it's not very much cooler there, but at least the light is no longer blinding him.

Lifting the edge of his hood enough to see, Qui-Gon breathes in.

The sensation of _something new_ is stronger here.

In his previous two visits, he hadn't thought much of it – how hot Tatooine feels, inside and out. Of course it does, it's a desert world where most of the planet is flat out uninhabitable because of the level of heat it endures. Only here, near the north pole of the planet, is it anywhere near cool enough to be hospitable for baseline humans and other species, and it is still nearly intolerable.

And yet, there's that breath of fresh air here. Qui-Gon closes his eyes and tries to follow the sensation again. It's in the Force, he can tell that much at least. It's an odd sensation of distant coolness, as if… as if somewhere near by there is water, an ocean even, and he can almost feel it's breeze.

When he opens his eyes, though, there is only oppressive heat there.

There are also steps, loud in the otherwise heavy blanket of silence that has fallen over Mos Espa. Curious, Qui-Gon looks to the way of the sound, wondering if someone had gotten caught outside in the double noon like he had. It doesn't sound like they're running – though there are many of them.

"This is a bad idea, Mern," someone mutters. "You know word gets around here, right? I think like this."

"Shut your gob, this is a best idea," a male voice, sharp and annoyed. "No one's around at this time and no one gives a damn – everyone's too busy hiding from the suns. We'll be in and out before double noon ends and that'll be that."

"I don't know about people not giving a damn," a third voice says. "From what I've seen, they give a lot of damns here."

"Well I don't give a damn about what they give a damn about. I'm going to kill that fucking Jedi bastard and that's all there is to it," the second speaker, Mern, says. "And his bitch and the brat too. And at this hour who the hell is going to stop us?"

"I don't know, Mern… double noon or not, it is still a _Jedi_."

"I'm not paying you to know shit, I'm paying you lot to _shoot_ shit – now come on," Mern snaps. "We'll go there, and we'll be in and out before anyone knows a thing."

Qui-Gon blinks, astonished, and then inches around the corner to see the speakers. Four men in total, all of them heavily armed with blaster rifles of all things – their heads covered in hoods and goggles and masks. They look ready for war. And they would have to be… to kill a Jedi.

There's a Jedi on Tatooine? Is that the shift in the currents of Force he feels?

"I should've asked for double," one of the hired guns mutters, looking around nervously. Qui-Gon shifts back into the shadows before he's spotted and the man's goggled gaze moves past him without noticing. Then, once he's sure he's not been spotted… Qui-Gon follows. The men are heading for one of the pourstone buildings, clutching onto their guns tightly.

Qui-Gon doesn't have the time to warn the people inside, but he can help them from behind, at least, he thinks, and then grabs his lightsaber handle, preparing mentally for battle.

The men march up the pourstone stairs towards a house on the second floor and then, without further ado, they unleash a barrage of blaster bolts at the door, tearing through it without a second thought. In the glaring light of the double noon, the flashing light of blaster bolts is barely visible at all – but the sound of it is deafening, echoing eerily in the oppressive, forceful silence of the noon time.

Qui-Gon moves to attack just as one of the men goes to kick the door in – and then someone grabs him from the behind, with one hand on his wrist and other around his shoulder, one hard hand coming to cover his mouth.

"Shh," a male voice murmurs quickly in his ear. "The house is empty, there's no one inside – come on. You need to get behind cover before they see you."

The door the men had blasted to ruin is kicked open – or rather into two pieces – and the attackers rush inside, shouting and firing wildly inside, seemingly looking to do as much damage as quick as they can to as wide an area as they possibly can manage. Qui-Gon can just about hear their shouts of dismay, of "There's no one here!" before he is just wrangled away from the street – and through an open door into another pour stone house.

Qui-Gon whirls around, to face the man who'd grabbed him. Human, ginger, perhaps in his thirties – Jedi, Qui-Gon thinks with dash of relief and whole load of confusion, as he takes in the man's simple cloaks and robes, all in vaguely familiar design if in somewhat… rougher conformation.

"Are you alright?" the younger Jedi asks, looking him over. "I didn't mean to handle you so rough, but I had to get you off the street before they spotted you and mistook you for myself."

"I assume you would be the Jedi they sought to kill," Qui-Gon says slowly, looking around them curiously. There's a woman behind the man, middle aged with her hair done up and with pair of kids at her skirt hems – she's looking between them with curious wariness.

The younger Jedi smiles a little. "Yes and no," he says and moves around Qui-Gon to peer outside again. "Yes, in the sense that yes they were seeking myself, but no… I'm no Jedi."

"Did they see you?" the woman asks sharply, clutching onto her children. "Obi-Wan, did they _see_ you getting into my house – did you put my kids in danger?"

"I would never, Ginae," the young man answers, but still looks outside. "No, they did not see us – and they seem to be leaving now."

Qui-Gon frowns between the two of them and then looks outside through past the many little peek holes in the doorway. Having found nothing to kill, the attackers mill about in the front of the pour stone houses, judging by the sound of it their employer is quite mad… but Obi-Wan is correct – they are leaving and hurriedly too, cursing as they go

The woman releases a breath and ushers her children off. "Go, back to your room now," she says, looking between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. "What is going on here?" she asks, looking at Qui-Gon. "Who is he and why is he so damn important you just put my whole family at risk?"

The young man glances at her and then looks at Qui-Gon, smiling wryly. "An actual Jedi," he says and bows his head. "Master Jinn. Sorry for the commotion – it's been rather exciting time around here as of late."

"I'm sorry – you seem to have the advantage of me?" Qui-Gon says, confused, looking between them. "And what is going on here?"

"Nothing good," the woman, Ginae, mutters and runs hands over his face. "Oh, my heart is pounding, I thought I was going to burst!"

"Sorry about that, Ginae, and thank you – the sanctuary is greatly appreciated," Obi-Wan says, apologetic, and then smiles wryly at Qui-Gon. "It's rather a long tale, and possibly best told by someone else. Suffice to say, some people aren't very happy with us, right now."

"You don't say," Qui-Gon says, wryly, looking him up and down. He looks like a Jedi but…

"Speaking of which, where is Anakin?" Ginae asks, looking at Obi-Wan. "You two are usually inseparable."

Qui-Gon straightens up sharply and Obi-Wan gives him a look. "At the Row, doing network maintenance under cover of the double noon," he says to the woman.

"It's going to be one hell of a home coming for him and poor Shmi," Ginae sighs. "Let them know, if there's something they need…"

"We've already moved most of more valuable things out of the house," Obi-Wan says and then turns to peer outside. "But thank you. I should go see about the damage."

"Is it safe?" Qui-Gon asks frowning, trying to keep up.

"Should be – they're long gone now," Obi-Wan says and then nods to Ginae. "Thank you again, Ginae, and I'm terribly sorry for alarming you so."

"It's alright," she sighs. "Anyone of us would've done the same – I was just the first."

Obi-Wan nods and then looks at Qui-Gon. "I'm assuming you'll be joining me?"

"Hm," Qui-Gon agrees, watching him warily.

Obi-Wan nods, and then opens the door, stepping out into the glare of the double suns, pulling up his hood as he does. Qui-Gon does the same, following him – and it feels eerily like walking next to another Jedi that his mind can't quite reconcile the fact that this man claims to not be one. He looks like one, and he acts like one, and yet…

Something stirs in Tatooine, Yoda had said. Qui-Gon has a feeling he knows what, now.

Surprisingly, the pourstone house the attackers had rammed into isn't as badly off as one might expect, from such an assault. There's marks of blaster bolts on the walls and the carpet on the stone floor is on fire – Obi-Wan stomps it out without even looking, taking in the rest of the living room instead. The other rooms have been ransacked briefly, beddings overturned and closets wrenched open, but the raiders hadn't had actual time to do any true property damage, or steal anything.

Qui-Gon can feel Anakin's presence there, seeped into the stone of the walls and the floor, into the sparse furniture. It's grown stronger. There is another presence there as well – familiar, but stronger than he'd ever felt it. Shmi.

Qui-Gon frowns, feeling around the sensations of the house and then turning to Obi-Wan, who is idly righting up an overturned chair. "Who are you?" he asks suspiciously. "You say you're not a Jedi, but this feels…"

It feels like house of trained Force sensitives. It feels like house of Anakin Skywalker and Shmi Skywalker, and this man _lives here_ with them.

Obi-Wan glances at him and then away. "I'm… a teacher," he says. "I teach. That is all."

Qui-Gon watches him – it doesn't feel like he's lying, it doesn't feel as if he's not telling anything at all. He just feels… calm and quiet, undisturbed pond even now, with his own home so violated. "You teach Anakin Skywalker," he says slowly.

"And Shmi Skywalker and anyone else who wants to learn. Ginae's children are among my students," Obi-Wan agrees and considers scorch mark on the kitchen table – a blaster bolt had hit it, but the table was metal, all it had left was a stain. "I'm sure they will be delighted to see you," he adds and smiles a little. "Shmi will be off work in about five hours – Anakin will be back here any moment now, once the word gets around."

Qui-Gon nods, watching him. Well it explains how the man knows him, Anakin and Shmi must've told him about Qui-Gon, and yet… He'd known him by looks alone. More so, he'd known who Qui-Gon was _at a distance._  How curious.

"Thank you," Qui-Gon says then, and folds his hands into his sleeves. "For the rescue, before – seems I did not know what I was walking into."

"That's quite alright," Obi-Wan says and moves to inspect the other blaster bolt marks. "I couldn't very well let Anakin's favourite Jedi get hurt."

Qui-Gon clears his throat a little and Obi-Wan offers him a faint smile. "Um, is there anything I can do to help, here?" the Jedi asks, motioning around them.

"I suppose we could see if there's anything we can do about these burn marks," Obi-Wan says. "Before they become permanent part of the walls."

They're in the process of seeing if the blaster marks might be scrubbed off the pourstone walls – the answer is a sad, resolute no – when someone all but crashes into the house. "Obi-Wan!" Anakin shouts. "I heard – are you hit, are you damaged – I'm going to freaking _kill_ them if they hit you –"

"I'm fine – _Anakin_ – " Obi-Wan says and flails a little as he's hauled up to his feet for a hasty, determined inspection. Qui-Gon blinks, staring at Anakin with surprise – he's grown taller, his hair has grown longer and he's got a new set of clothes. He also has a pole of metal thrust through a belt loop, hanging like a sword at his side.

"I don't see any burns," Anakin says, patting Obi-Wan's chest and arms, checking everything. "You really weren't hit?"

"I wasn't here," Obi-Wan says gently. "Ginae was kind enough to shelter me."

"I knew there was a reason I liked her," Anakin says determinedly and then steps back to look him over once more. "You're alright. Okay. Good," he says and sighs. Then he shoves at the man's shoulder. "You scared the crap out of me!"

"I – I'm sorry?" Obi-Wan offers, looking baffled. "I'm sorry, Anakin, really – I'm fine, everyone's fine. No one was hurt."

"Ugh!" the boy answers, shoving at him again. It's only then that he spots Qui-Gon – and stops to stare. "What?"

"Hello Anakin," Qui-Gon says, rather amused by the display. "You shouldn't be mad at him – it was hardly his fault."

"What he hell – Qui-Gon?" Anakin asks. "Since when – what, how?"

"I only arrived couple hours back – I was looking for you actually, when I spotted people heading for your house," Qui-Gon admits and nods at the bearded man at their side. "Obi-Wan was kind enough to keep me from getting into trouble."

Anakin arches his brows at that, looks at Obi-Wan and then back at Qui-Gon. "Er, that's… that's great. Whoa, you're really here, that's…" he shakes his head. "I didn't expect that. Why are you here?" he asks then, suspiciously and moves for some reason closer to Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon looks at the interaction, curious. Anakin is older now, already almost as tall as Obi-Wan is, and it doesn't look like he's seeking security or protection from his teacher – rather, it looks the opposite. He's only half a step away from shielding Obi-Wan from Qui-Gon.

"I'm on a sabbatical," Qui-Gon says. "I chose to spend it here, on Tatooine. I was hoping to see you – I hope you don't mind.

"No, no, of course not," Anakin says, but he sounds nervous, even uneasy, And Obi-Wan looks away, smiling uncomfortably. "It's just a bit of… awkward time. And we weren't exactly expecting to see you again," the boy mutters and coughs. "Not that it isn't good to see you, it's awesome to see you again."

"Well, that's good to hear," Qui-Gon answers, watching them interestedly. Something's going on here, he muses. Something more than meets the eye – and there's already a lot that does meet the eye. "It seems you're having a bit of a trouble here?" If having a mob of murderous thugs breaking into your house with every intention of killing anyone inside can be called a _bit_ of anything.

"Yeah, we… aren't very popular with the slave owners here about," Anakin admits, sounding a little smug. "They want us dead."

"Which really shouldn't be a source of pride for you," Obi-Wan says wryly, and moves past Anakin, to check over another blaster mark.

"What do you mean – being trouble for slave owners is goal of my _life,_ " Anakin snorts and looks around them. "Huh, they really came in guns blazing, huh?"

"Good thing there was no one here," Qui-Gon comments and frowns, looking between them. "Has this happened before?"

"Well they come around every day to harass us, but they haven't broken into the house before, that's new," Anakin admits and frowns a little. "Aw, man, look at what they did to the door. Mom is not going to be happy about this."

* * *

 

Anakin has changed, since the last time Qui-Gon had seen him. It's not only that he's older, taller and obviously stronger, it's not even the confidence of being free after lifetime of slavery – not that he wasn't a very confident boy even before… but he's _different_ at a more fundamental level. He _feels_ different in the Force itself.

He is being trained, that much is obvious. Qui-Gon looks at Obi-Wan, who is helping Anakin with the door as they are trying to see if there is any way to repair it – unlikely. There's the cause, Qui-Gon is certain of it. For all that the man claimed not to be a Jedi… he has all the marks of a Jedi. More than that, he acts, speaks, behaves – and teaches – like a Jedi _Master._

The pair of them hesitate at first, with him there, Anakin throwing him uneasy looks at Obi-Wan considering him thoughtfully a time or two – but in the end they seem to slot into what must be a settled habit between them, regardless of their spectator.

"Reach out with your mind, Anakin, not with your eyes," Obi-Wan murmurs to the young man, hand on his shoulder, watching him carefully. "Your eyes only see the surface – your senses can go far beyond it. Now concentrate."

Qui-Gon frowns a little at that, as Anakin breathes out and then closes his eyes – what on earth are they trying to…

Anakin rests his hands on the broken pieces of the door and they shift under the light touch, turning to meet each other, broken seam to broken seam. As Qui-Gon watches, surprised and then utterly astonished, the two pieces of the door moving back together. Broken shards of old wood ease back straight and then fit into their places amidst each other and their seams slowly… smooth away.

"What in force's name –" Qui-Gon murmurs, and then he realises what it is. Anakin is working at microscopic, perhaps even at a molecular level, binding together the broken pieces. He's using the Force to weld the pieces back into one whole.

Like one would do, in welding a lightsaber together.

Obi-Wan glances up at him and then leaves Anakin working on the broken pieces of the door. "Don't tell him," the man says under his breath. "He's over confident enough as it is."

"But that is –" Qui-Gon swallows, watching as more pieces move to join unified of the whole of the broken door, which is quickly starting to look less and less broken. Where Anakin's Force has fixed the door, there are no marks of repair – it looks as if it never broke in the first place.

Yoda could maybe do that – perhaps some other Masters in the Council. But… Anakin Skywalker isn't even _fourteen_ yet, is he?

Qui-Gon looks searchingly at Obi-Wan, who arches his eyebrows a little and then looks away, at Anakin. He's smiling, quiet expression of private pride – and he might as well be proud, if he taught the boy how to do that.

"Phew, there," Anakin says, and opens his eyes. The now wholly fixed door falls to the floor, clattering heavily and making the boy wince. "Oops. Well, its holding together well enough. What do you think?" the boy asks, looking up to Obi-Wan expectantly.

"Very well done, you're getting good at that," Obi-Wan says, smiling gently and moving back to the boy's side. "It'll survive to be broken another day. Shall we put it back in place?"

Anakin hops to his feet in one smooth motion. "Yeah, hopefully I didn't make it smaller and it still fits."

"One way to find out."

While Qui-Gon runs a hand over his beard, considering the pair of them, Anakin and Obi-Wan hoist the door up and back to its hinges. It first in its place rather well – though it looks like Anakin made it slant to the side a little, it still closes and locks well enough.

Well no doubt about what Obi-Wan is teaching to Anakin. How is the question now, though. How did the man find the boy? Jedi or not… the man is obviously skilled in the use of the Force, and perhaps even more so in understanding it. How did he come to be here, like this, teaching the Chosen One?

For a moment, just a split of a moment, Qui-Gon entertains the thought that perhaps he had been sent by the Jedi Council in secret… but that's both impossible and ludicrous – and Yoda would have told him, certainly. So how, how did this come to be – where did the man come from? Had it just been a coincidence – was the man some wandering sage of a Force sensitive who had ran into a strong youngling and decided to teach him the way of the Force, or… was something more going on here?

It's obvious enough Obi-Wan and Anakin are close. They're standing in each other's personal spaces without any second thoughts, leaning subtly to each other, if in different ways. There is a deference, that seems go both ways.

A Master and a Padawan, Qui-Gon thinks, if not in name.

…Could he have taught Anakin to weld together a broken wooden door with the Force alone, if he had had this time to teach the boy? Qui-Gon doubts it. He doesn't know where to even begin teaching something like that to someone so young. And yet, the way they are behaving now… it is as if there is nothing usual about it at all.

Well, Obi-Wan knows, certainly, seeing as he didn't want Qui-Gon to remark on the whole thing.

How very fascinating, Qui-Gon thinks. Especially since while all this is happening, they seem to be in trouble with locals too.

"Are you likely to be attacked again?" Qui-Gon asks, folding his arms and watching them.

"Most likely," Obi-Wan says, shaking his head while Anakin blows a breath and makes a face.

"What are you going to do, if they come again and this time you're here?" Qui-Gon asks curiously.

Anakin and Obi-Wan exchange looks and Anakin shrugs his shoulders, resting his hand on the metal pole at his side. "We'll defend ourselves," Anakin says and grin. "With _extreme prejudice."_

Obi-Wan nudges at his side. "We'll do what we must – and _you_ need a time out."

"What? No I don't," Anakin says, frowning at him. "Oh come on, Obi-Wan, we got attacked, you can't expect me to just sit down and relax. And Qui-Gon is here and everything and I want to talk to him."

"I suspect Master Jinn will be here even after you've had the time to calm down a little," the man says flatly and nudges him. "You're all but bubbling over, Anakin. Please. For me."

Anakin sighs and hangs his head for a moment at that and then looks at Qui-Gon. "How long are you staying?" he asks, almost pouting.

"A sabbatical can take anywhere from a month to a year," Qui-Gon answers and looks at Obi-Wan thoughtfully. "In any case, I suspect I will be here for a while."

Anakin frowns a little and then looks to Obi-Wan. "Sabbatical?"

"A rest period from work of a Jedi, generally consisting anywhere from a week to a full two standard years – used to contemplate, or work on a specific task for example writing a treatise, or committing oneself to mastery of Force and enlightenment," Obi-Wan says and smiles. "It's a holiday – Jedi usually take one when they need work through personal crisis."

"Ah," Anakin says, nodding while Qui-Gon arches an eyebrow at Obi-Wan's textbook answer. "Okay, fine. I guess I can take a break then too."

He glances between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, who turns to consider the door again and then shakes his head. "I'm going to meditate," the boy says almost forlornly, astonishing Qui-Gon even further. "Do you mind?"

"No, of course not," Qui-Gon says, staring at him. Anakin hadn't much enjoyed it when he tried to teach him. "Please go ahead."

Anakin nods and then heads off small stack of cushions in the corner of the living room, grabbing one of them and then sitting down. As Qui-Gon watches, the boy sits down and after moment of nervous, almost embarrassed twitching, he settles down and closes his eyes.

Moment later, despite his nervousness and the energy that is, indeed, all but bubbling up within him… he is falling into meditation.

Qui-Gon turns to look at Obi-Wan, arching his eyebrow at the man. Obi-Wan smiles a little. "Would you like some tea while we wait?" the man offers quietly, motioning to the blaster marked kitchen. "I think our water heater survived the assault."

"I would love some," Qui-Gon says, shaking his head in wonder, and follows the man to the kitchen. "You're not going to join him?" Qui-Gon asks quietly.

"He needs to learn to meditate without guidance," Obi-Wan says. "Maybe one day he will learn to do it without being told to, too," he adds, rather wryly.

Qui-Gon stares at him. The man's words sound… much like something Master Dooku might have said about him, once upon a time. Certainly he himself had once said about his students. "How are you _not_ a Jedi?" Qui-Gon asks, confused.

Obi-Wan sets the water heater down and smiles sadly. "Because I can't be," he says simply and turns away.

Oh, Qui-Gon thinks, watching him as he turns away to get the tea. Well… that explains why he can't feel the man's presence in the house. He's not Force sensitive himself. A non Force sensitive, who had managed to teach an actual Force sensitive how repair things with the Force.

The whole thing is getting more and more interesting by the moment.

* * *

 

Shmi is indeed not happy about the door. She is even less happy about the fact that her house is marked with blaster burns and that her carpet has been burned.

"We're all alright though," Anakin hurries to tell her, while she flails in horror at the marks on her house. "No one got hurt – they got in, they made a mess and then they left and yeah it sucks, but no one got hurt and nothing got stolen or anything."

"Were you here?" She demands and then looks to Obi-Wan. "Were _you_? Are you hurt?"

"Nobody's hurt – I was at the Row and Obi-Wan ducked to Ginae's place for a bit – and hey," Anakin says and motions at Qui-Gon. "Look who showed up."

Shmi looks up and wavers a little at sight of Qui-Gon. "Oh," she says. "That – this is a surprise. Master Jedi, we… weren't expecting to see you again."

"So I have heard," Qui-Gon says and bows his head, trying to place the… feeling he's getting off her. She feels familiar and yet he can't quite… "Hope I am not intruding – I understand this is something of a difficult time for you."

"Yes, difficult," She says and runs hand over her hair, looking around. "They broke into the house?" she then asks, again, turning to Anakin. "When did they break into the house?"

"At noon," Obi-Wan says and comes closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. She leans into it and for a moment Qui-Gon thinks maybe that's it, the basis for all of this – but then Obi-Wan leans in to speak to her in teacher's voice; "Centre yourself, Shmi. Take a moment. It's alright."

She breathes and closes her eyes for a moment, Obi-Wan watching her attentively as she breathes out and in, slow and calming – a quick fire relaxation technique she performs so well it borders on meditation. Immediately, her anxious presence calms down – Qui-Gon can imagine her pulse, coming down as well.

"Good," Obi-Wan says with a nod, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly, and then moving away again.

"So they busted in here, but when no one was home, they just left again?" Shmi asks, looking around, much calmer now. "They're going to come again."

"Yeah, you bet they are," Anakin says and folds his arms. "Now we just gotta decide whether we want to be here when they do or not."

"They came in here guns blazing," Qui-Gon points out, looking between Shmi and Obi-Wan as another piece clicks into a place in a puzzle which… doesn't look like anything he's expecting. Obi-Wan had said he was teaching Shmi, but this… "I'm not sure staying here is going to be safe."

Shmi sighs and looks at Anakin. "I guess we're moving again. Did you see Dinah when you were at the Row?”

“Just is passing but I don't think she'll mind finding us a place to stay for a bit,” Anakin says and looks at Obi-Wan. “What do you think?”

“It certainly can't hurt to ask,’ Obi-Wan says calmly. “And I hardly think she'll throw us in the gutter after all this trouble.”

“And you, Qui-Gon?”

Qui-Gon turns his eyes to Shmi. “Yes?”

“Do you have a place you're planning to stay at, or are you coming with us?” she asks worriedly.

He'd be another person to house - another mouth to feed - and he doubts they have much to spare… “I wouldn't want to be a bother,” Qui-Gon demurs, wondering about his own funds and how far they would take him in this place. He's need to have Republic credits exchanged to local currency too, again.

“You could never be a bother, Qui-Gon Jinn,” Shmi says, resting a hand on his arm for a moment. “With all you've done for us… you're always welcome here and to whatever we have to share.”

“And it's not exactly a bad thing to have an actual Jedi in our corner,” Anakin says, which considering what's already happened doesn't sound very promising.

Qui-Gon considers opening his mouth and telling them he's not here to join whatever rebellion they have brewing up, but...

Obi-Wan glances his way and smiles a little smile of secretive amusement and fondness - and Qui-Gon isn't sure it's not _exactly_ what he's here for.


	6. Chapter 6

When he's honest with himself, Qui-Gon has to admit he's not sure what he expected, coming to Tatooine. Finding Anakin and Shmi like he had left them, still meek and only cautiously testing out their new freedoms, perhaps working hard as mechanics, trying to scrape a living out of sands of Tatooine? Some of that is true enough – Shmi still works hard, long hours in a garage that services local speeders. But meek, cautiously testing?

Tatooine had not stopped and stood still while he was not there. It had been arrogant to assume even for one moment that it would. And perhaps it had been doubly as arrogant to assume that somehow the matters of the Republic outside would in any way affect the desert world which  _ proven _ to stand so far removed from all of its influences.

Outside the galaxy churns in the grips of slow change, outside the Jedi Order wallows in it's tradition, outside Qui-Gon's master has still left them to seek meaning, purpose and triumphs elsewhere. But on Tatooine, none of that that matters. Or perhaps it matters to some, to the traders who now curse the new taxation, to the smugglers who are now finding themselves in a business booming with demand… but to the slaves?

Qui-Gon very much doubts any of them know or even care who the current Supreme Chancellor is, or what his policies are. Galactic policies are supposed to forbid slavery, and that's not working on Tatooine clearly, so what do they care? They don't. And neither do Anakin Skywalker or Shmi Skywalker.

The most arrogant assumption Qui-Gon thinks he'd been under was the one about them. Or the  _ several _ unvoiced assumptions he had had about them. That a such a strong Force sensitive child would come from an utterly Force Null mother… well, perhaps he had not believed Shmi to be  _ null _ exactly, but he had not for a moment considered her strong enough for training.

Now he's watching her use the Force to haul up a box of equipment and parts far too heavy for her, her Force singing as it enforces her and helps her lift the heavy load. She is not as bright as Anakin, certain, but she is strong – perhaps stronger than most Jedi Qui-Gon knows. Her Force presence in rest is calm and quiet, whispering him  _ don't notice me, don't pay attention to me _ , and maybe that's why he hadn't. All her life, she'd spent praying not to draw ill attention – and so she had not. Still, Qui-Gon is ashamed, for not having seen her for what she is.

Anakin had blindsided him. It's an excuse, perhaps, but a fair one Qui-Gon thinks. Even now Anakin shines so bright, so bold – and he is definitely not asking people to not see him, quite the opposite.  _ I am a person, my name is Anakin, _ Qui-Gon recalls, Anakin demanding the respect owed to any sentient, free thinking person. It tells all one needs to know about Anakin's Force presence. Even know, it's saying the same thing.  _ I am here, I am me and I  _ **_refuse_ ** _ to be anything less _ . It's louder than ever before, now.

It had been foolish to think that after getting a glimpse into the secrets of the Force and the reality of his own powers, Anakin would simply let his potential lie in waste and never so much as try. Of course he would try it out, of course he would try and achieve his potential – of course he would not just stop. Force is hard to master on your own, but hardly impossible – and for someone of Anakin's strength…

And then there is Obi-Wan. Anakin might have been able to reach for his potential without this teacher of his, but Obi-Wan had obviously seen the flame inside Anakin and fanned it into a roar. He'd seen the same in Shmi and coaxed that light out too, without a second thought spent to their ages, their restrictions, their stations in life.

He's a teacher. He teaches. That is all. Like that  _ could _ be all.

* * *

"Well, we knew it would come to this," the elderly twi-lek woman muses almost fatalistically, while taking her kitchen table by the corner and slowly moving it in place. Shmi takes the other end and together the women lift the heavy metal table up before the twi-lek – Dinah – goes to pick up the carpet under it.

There, with the seams hidden in sand and handle similarly covered, there is a hatch.

"Do you think it will quiet down if we wait?" Shmi asks, as the two women hoists the heavy metal hatch up, revealing what looks like service tunnel, leaning down and below the Slave Quarter Row.

"Maybe, probably not," Dinah admits and grabs a lantern from the wall, holding it out to Shmi. "You've been making too much noise of late, and people are starting to talk. The word is spreading – things are changing – and you are at the heart of it. If they silence you know, they'll just make it louder – but if they don't… well, it's not like you'll go away. It's a choice between them doing nothing and appearing weak and doing something and appearing spiteful. Guess which one they'll choose."

Shmi sighs and nods, hanging her head a little.

"Hey," Dinah says and claps a hand on her shoulder. "This is all on good time – we've expected it. And the word  _ has _ spread. We knew it would come to this."

"We knew, yes," Shmi says and looks up, at Anakin. "I just wish it didn't have to involve violence."

"Yeah, because we're all learning self defence for no reason at all, are we?" Anakin asks, folding his arms and looking at Obi-Wan. "Just for the fun of it, no ulterior motives at all."

Obi-Wan simply arches his eyebrows at that and shakes his head, amused.

"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon says slowly, looking between them. "I know I am quite new to the situation but – you planned for this?"

"For all our lives," Dinah says and gives him a look. "You trust this outlander?" she then demands, looking at Shmi.

"He's the one who freed us," Shmi says.

"And he's a Jedi," Anakin adds. "They're the coolest people… most of the time."

Dinah arches an eyebrow at him and then looks between Qui-Gon – and Obi-Wan. "Hmm," she says and narrows her eyes. "Well that is all nice and good – but do you  _ trust _ him? Do you trust him with –  _ this _ ?"

Shmi hesitates at that and looks at Anakin, who chews on his lip, thoughtful. Both of them look at Obi-Wan, who blinks slowly at them and then looks away, distant look coming to his eyes. Then he looks back, to Qui-Gon. "I think so, yes," he answers the unspoken question, and Qui-Gon's eyebrows shoot up while Shmi and Anakin both relax.

Of all of them, Obi-Wan knows him the  _ least _ – why is his word the weightiest one?

Dinah looks between them, her eyes narrowed, and then harrumphs. "Go on, go see about situating yourselves below," she says then, motioning at them. "I want to talk with Obi-Wan."

"Dinah," Anakin says, warningly.

"I'll send him down below once we're done," the twi-lek says impatiently and motions them to go ahead. "Go, go."

Shmi and Anakin hesitate a moment while Obi-Wan folds his gloved hands into his sleeves and waits. In the end, they comply with the elderly twi-lek's wishes, Shmi slipping down to the hatch to climb the ladder there down while Anakin motions Qui-Gon to follow.

Obi-Wan looks after them and then turns away, to face Dinah, his face calm – and something about it… Qui-Gon isn't sure what it is, why he seems so subservient all of sudden – but he does. And it rubs Qui-Gon the wrong way, to see the elegant young man bow his head so.

"Go on, Qui-Gon," Anakin says to him. "And mind your head, it's a little cramped below ground."

Qui-Gon gives Obi-Wan another searching look and then eases himself down as well.

Below the Slave Quarter Row, what must've been a series of maintenance tunnels have been transformed. It looks like the work of months and years of slow digging and careful excavation – he can tell the moment the diggers had moved from using hand tools to using power tools to having proper excavation droids, too. Like yearly rings on a tree trunk the style of excavation changes visibly, shifting from rough hewn sloping arches to harsher edges to finally proper, mechanical precision at the end of the hallway, where the narrow corridor splits into two, where room have been added.

"Welcome to Rebellion," Anakin says, as Shmi leads them to one of the rooms, where alcoves have been dug into the sandstone, with bedding set there to accommodate visitors.

"How long has this place been here?" Qui-Gon wonders, quietly amazed.

"Dinah started digging it out years ago, using hand tools because she's a madwoman," Anakin says while throwing himself to one of the beds. "It got bit faster lately since we got some droids to do the digging for us."

"It started out as a secret escape route from the Slave Row," Shmi says quietly, running a hand over her hair. "Way to get out in case something… trapped people inside. Now we've added in rooms, we've build up stores…"

Qui-Gon looks between them, as the weight of their reality settles on him. Rebellion indeed – a slave rebellion, and years in the making. "What about the chips?" he asks quietly. "You don't have them anymore, but the others are still slaves, correct? So they would have the chips." And if they tried to escape…

Shmi and Anakin share a grim look and then Anakin straightens up. "We've almost figured out how to get them out safely," he says quietly. "I finished my scanner, by the way. Most slaves have the chip embedded in their guts, so… it's taking while to figure out how to get them safely."

"… I see," Qui-Gon says quietly, and then sits down on a crate that stands by the open doorway. He isn't sure what to think of this.

Seemingly a lifetime ago, he'd told Anakin that he couldn't free every slave he came across, that he wouldn't try even if he could. After you remove someone from a terrible but stable situation, the future of that person becomes your responsibility. He could wave a hand at every susceptible slave owner and use Force to make them free their slaves – but what would happen to those slaves afterwards? Where would they go, what would they do, how would they survive? He couldn't bring them all with him, he couldn't feed them or give them money… so what would happen to them, with all support they'd ever had gone?

That was the wisdom of the Jedi, he thinks, the ethics he had been taught and the ones he'd practiced all his life. You can't just rush into situation and wave a hand and magically have everything be alright – there are consequences to everything. Every action – and every life situation altered – had to be carefully considered. Sometimes, it's a decision between abusive environment and slow starvation or worse outside – it can't be made at a drop of a hat.

That too seems arrogant now, terribly, terribly arrogant in a strange way, his own thoughts about freeing slaves. Yes, there were consequences. Yes, some of those consequences were his fault and his responsibility.

But what did the slaves themselves want?

_ Freedom _ , Qui-Gon thinks now, looking around in this illicitly carved hidden haven under the Quarter Row, where just by looking around he can tell more people than just them have hidden and found shelter in. The slaves want their freedom. Do they care that they might have little hope of livelihood after? Do they care that their life expectancy might drastically decrease? Probably not.

Qui-Gon runs a hand over his chin and looks at Anakin. Such a smart, strong young man, so powerful in the Force, with an immensely bright future ahead of him regardless of what he does – and he chooses to do this. Qui-Gon can't recall the last time he'd been so humbled by actions of another, which have no effect on his person whatsoever.

"So," Anakin says, looking at him and then at Shmi. "Now what?"

Shmi sits down beside him and looks down at her hands, scratching at her calluses. "There will be more pushback now," she says quietly. "Slaves suspected of involvement with us will be punished. Depending on whether slave owners start banding up, there might be public executions again."

Anakin frowns at the floor and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That'll just make the word spread harder," he mutters, but he sounds worried.

"Yes, but it will scare some of them off," Shmi says quietly. "Dinah has something planned, I think – we'll see when it comes to it."

Qui-Gon looks between them, wondering. Maybe he could help reach some sort of settlement here, he thinks, talk to the slave owners, perhaps. That's what Jedi do, and if things are going as Shmi thinks they are then, yes, there would most likely be deaths. Maybe he could stop that, negotiate better treatment for the slaves, better living conditions…

He hardly thinks that's what the slaves want though. They want their freedom – which the slave owners won't give up easily. There have been precious few societies that have seen slavery that could let go of it easily. It's always violent.

At least on Tatooine, slaves come from all walks of life – rather than one single badly discriminated minority. As terrible as it is to think of it… it would help them in the long run.

"You can't go to work anymore," Anakin says suddenly and Qui-Gon looks up. "They'll try to catch you, if you do."

"Probably. There's already been some trouble," Shmi agrees with a sigh and shakes her head. "There goes the income."

Anakin wraps an arm around her shoulders. "We'll figure it out, Mom. It'll be alright," he mutters and tucks her close as Shmi sighs again and rests her head against his shoulder.

It all makes his own crisis of faith make seem a little inconsequential, Qui-Gon thinks somewhat wryly and runs a hand over his face.

Outside the hall, there's a sound of steps and quiet brush of cloth against stone before Obi-Wan slips in, peering into the room before stepping inside, the hems of his cloak whispering against the floor. He looks – and feels – calm but Anakin goes instantly on alert at the sight of him.

"What is it?" he demands. "What did she want?"

"To confirm a suspicion," Obi-Wan admits and glances at Qui-Gon. "She knows."

Shmi lifts her head sharply and both she and Anakin look at him worriedly, glancing at Qui-Gon. "And?" Anakin asks.

"And it matters, a little," Obi-Wan admits and bows his head a little. "She wants me to… add my info into the network. As much of it as I can, on short notice."

Anakin stands up at that, as does Shmi. "It's not much," Anakin says. "The network can't hold that much and it's already pretty much full. We'd need to add in so much more memory and we don't have the components – "

Obi-Wan bows his head in agreement. "She doesn't want everything, precisely," he admits with a slight smile. "Just the philosophies. The faith," he says quietly. "The…  _ teachings _ , she called them. What I've been teaching you – well,  _ trying to _ , anyway," he says, giving pointed look at Anakin.

"But… that's just the nonsense stuff," Anakin complains. "What use is that to anybody?"

"Just because you don't care about it doesn't mean it won't mean the world to most people," Shmi sighs and moves to Obi-Wan's side. "Obi-Wan…" she trails away, grasping him gently by the shoulder. "Will you?"

They're talking about Force, Qui-Gon thinks. Whatever Obi-Wan is, wherever he comes from, it's obvious he's wise in the ways of the Force if not able to use it himself – he knows the ways of the Jedi, and probably is familiar with the faiths of the Force. Maybe he's even part of the Church of Force.

"What is the network?" Qui-Gon asks, folding his hands into his sleeves, frowning.

The three of them look at him and hesitate for a moment. It's Obi-Wan who finally speaks. "It's an information sharing network build throughout the building above us," he explains. "Though lately it's been spreading out of it, to the rest of the slave district of Mos Espa."

"And lot of people outside the Row come in to download stuff from it, to take back to wherever they come from," Anakin says, folding his arms and frowning. "Dinah manages it – me and Mom, we do most of the technical maintenance."

"It's how information is spread between slaves," Shmi adds.

And they want Obi-Wan to add in information about the Force and faiths of the Force – for slaves to learn from? Qui-Gon frowns a little, looking at him worriedly, taking in his somewhat stiff posture. He can see why Dinah would want such knowledge spread amongst the slaves – and it's not he can disapprove, it's not like Force is exclusive to the Jedi but still…

"Do you object?" Obi-Wan asks, and Qui-Gon lifts his head. The young man is looking at him, his face impassive, calm. Inscrutable.

"It is hardly my place to object," Qui-Gon says, watching him.

"You are a Jedi, and what I know is rather exclusive to the Jedi," Obi-Wan says plainly while Anakin lets out a frustrated breath. "The Ancient Religion of the Jedi is rather elite and discerning, after all."

It sounds like critique and Qui-Gon bows his head a little at the face of it. "The Force is everywhere, it is with everyone," he says, honestly. "The Jedi utilise to a high extent, perhaps, but we hardly own it, nor is it's mastery or understanding restricted to us." The Sith certainly proved that.

Obi-Wan watches him for a moment and then Anakin speaks. "He's right – it's not up to him," he says and Obi-Wan turns to him, his expression searching. Anakin makes a face at him. "It's not up to us either, Obi-Wan," he says firmly and shifts his footing. "It's up to you. It's always been up to you."

"We both know that's not quite true, is it?" Obi-Wan says quietly, gently.

"Well it is  _ now _ ," Anakin says firmly and stares at him levelly. "You do what you think you need to do, Obi-Wan. Nobody has the right to order you around – not him, not Dinah, not me, nobody."

Qui-Gon blinks and thinks, and with no small amount of regret,  _ oh _ .

The bearded young man bows his head a little. "I need to, ah – meditate on it," he says, quiet and  somewhat awkward and glances over his shoulder at Qui-Gon. Then he looks at Anakin and Shmi. "Do you mind if I…"

"No, no, of course not – go right ahead," Shmi says and nods encouragingly. "Take your time."

Obi-Wan bows his head and then turns around to leave the carved room, frowning a little as he goes. Qui-Gon looks after him and then bows his head, running a hand over his mouth. Another thing he didn't expect – and another he thing can't quite ask about, is it?

* * *

Slaves come and go in the underground compound, which Qui-Gon soon finds connects to more houses than just Dinah's. of course it only makes sense, seeing as it started out as secret escape route and then evolved into basically a hidden bunker, but still, the numbers of slaves coming and going is somewhat surprising.

Especially seeing how many of them are kids.

The compound consist, Qui-Gon soon learns, of something like half a dozen rooms, some of the them rooms for sleeping like the one Shmi and Anakin settled into, others used as storage for miscellaneous equipment – and one of them a large hall, mix of a dining hall and meeting room which also, he finds, is used as classroom. There, Qui-Gon gets the pleasure of watching Obi-Wan teach number of young students how to fight.

Well, not all of them are young. Some of them are adults – and Shmi and Anakin join the session too, standing in rows with all the other students.

"Good evening, students," the man greets them warmly, to an answering chorus of returned greetings. Obi-Wan smiles. "Let's start out with warm ups and stretches then, shall we?"

What follows is a very familiar sort of training session, the sort Qui-Gon has witnessed – even given – several times himself. Warm ups and stretches followed by katas, Obi-Wan walking his crowd of students through various blocks and attacks, teaching them new techniques. They're all using poles to fight – but Qui-Gon doesn't need much imagination to figure out what they're standing for. It becomes especially obvious when Obi-Wan tells the students to pair up for sparring.

He's teaching the slaves – and Anakin and Shmi – lightsaber forms. And he's  _ good at it _ . Every correction, every adjustment he prompts in his student, every comment given, every praise, it's all well timed and precise, not like that of man who knows only the bare necessities – but that of a master duellist.

Of all the students present, Shmi and Anakin are the most advanced. It's obvious that while giving these general lessons to bigger crowds, Obi-Wan is giving much more individual tutelage to Shmi and Anakin, both of whom are already quite skilled with fighting with their metal poles. Obi-Wan doesn't even bother to stop and watch them – he trusts them easily to know what to do and how to go about it. And for a good reason.

The mother and son pair spar beautifully and comfortably, easily at a junior Padawan's level in terms of their skills. Already their mastery over the Force is telling too, the way their predict each other's movements, how they use Force to enforce their blows… there is a sense of  _ taking it easy _ of course, they are family, but that doesn't make them any less skilled.

"Teacher, teacher!" one of the younger students asks after the sparring is finished and Obi-Wan is bringing the session to the a close. The young girl waves her arm around in air until Obi-Wan notices. "Will you spar with the Skywalkers?"

"Ooh," comes from the crowd, excited, and everyone stops to look, Shmi and Anakin pausing in middle of their stretches.

Qui-Gon folds his arms, looking between Obi-Wan and the Skywalkers. Skywalkers have the benefit of Force, in reading it's signals… but Obi-Wan is obviously at much higher level of more technical knowledge. It would be interesting.

"We might as well," Anakin says, and swings his practice weapon – or rather,  _ weapon _ , it's not like these people have access to actual lightsabers. "It's not like we can put up a show outside today."

"Very true," Obi-Wan muses and then shrugs. "If you feel up to it," he says and goes to the side of the room, grabbing two poles from a basket where the other students had left theirs.

"Can you fight us seriously for once?" Anakin asks and swings his pole again. "Like, properly, seriously."

"Properly seriously – very eloquent, Anakin," Obi-Wan answers and grips the two poles. "But I reckon I can. Ready?"

Anakin grins wildly and immediately moves to face his teacher. Shmi takes moment to stretch out, but she too moves ahead, look of determination and concentration on her face.

Leaning against a smooth stone wall, Qui-Gon folds his arms and watches Obi-Wan smoothly shift to face his students. This should be interesting, he thinks. So far the man hasn't done much in way of physical exertion, the few katas he'd done barely enough to put a single hair out of place.

Obi-Wan is such a well put together man, quiet, calm, polite. Very easy on the eyes, certainly, but so proper too. It would be a guilty pleasure to see him even a little in disarray by a duel, Qui-Gon thinks privately, hiding his anticipant smile as he leans back to watch.

The three combatants bow in perfect unison, and quickly Anakin takes a forward guard, offensive neutral, while Shmi turns sideways, defensive neutral. Obi-Wan looks at them, swinging the two poles in hands and then shifts smoothly into a perfect Jar'Kai pose, one pole held in reverse grip, the other in proper one.

It makes sense, for him to use Jar'Kai, Qui-Gon thinks. Unable to use the Force as he is, Obi-Wan would need to squeeze every advantage elsewhere. Jar'Kai is a more blade heavy combat style, demanding immense concentration of its user – it usually makes them forego using Force as much, which normally a weakness… is a non issue here. There are other weakness to Jar'Kai too – the user's inability to put full force behind their blade, as one would with one lightsaber – but against two opponents, it's one of the better styles.

There is one problem though. Knowledge of Force and faiths of the Force Qui-Gon can understand, even Obi-Wan's understanding of how to use the Force despite his own inability to do so can be rationalised… but how does the man know such a specialised Jedi technique as an entire lightsaber combat form?

There's a moment of stillness – then Obi-Wan moves in on his students and stillness is instantly turned into a nearly melodious clash of blade work. Obi-Wan blocks Anakin's forward attack and goes to attack the more defensive Shmi, testing her guard. The Skywalkers answer admirably, Anakin moving to parry the block and then attacking again, while Shmi moves into his space to guard him from Obi-Wan's attack, working together against their teacher who urges them both on, blocking attacks and testing their guard, teasing the blade work out of them and guiding it along like any Master would in a training duel.

It's not only Jar'Kai he's using. Qui-Gon can see flash fire moments of Djem Sho there too, hints of Soresu, he even steps back and launches a Makeshi attacks on Shmi before holding Anakin back with a easy Ataru guard – moving between styles quick and easy. Shmi and Anakin are a similar blend of forms, mixing and matching their attacks and parries and blocks and guards, though with them it's harder to see what precise style they're using. Their forms are imperfect and loose, blurring into each other. Obi-Wan's forms on other hand are all textbook perfect, and every time he shifts between forms, it's obvious he's doing so.

Qui-Gon feels a bit like he's standing at the end of a tunnel, watching the duel – everything else seems to fade away. He's only distantly aware of the cheering spectators and the way they ooh and aah at particularly fancy movements. All he sees is this impossible man, a former slave of all people – who fights like a Jedi.

Not a smidge of Force is being used – and still, he's masterful. Not a single wasted movement or hesitant stance, everything is precise, highly trained,  _ beautiful _ .

Shmi is the first to tire, bowing out of the duel to gasp for breath and leaving Obi-Wan and Anakin facing each other alone. The duel picks up speed there, and after a moment Obi-Wan drops his second pole to the floor, grabbing the one he has in two handed grip and then launching a barrage of attacks on Anakin.

"Your middle ring defence is loose again, Anakin," the teacher says, a first word of guidance.

"Up yours," Anakin answers – and Obi-Wan makes him pay for the insolence by sneaking an attack through and marking Anakin with what must be a sharp soon to be a bruise on his shoulder.

"Ugh," Anakin answers and then tightens his middle ring defence properly, making Obi-Wan nod in satisfaction before attacking again.

There are other words of guidance spoken throughout the duel – "Too weak, use a  _ Jung ma _ instead – better," and "Your outer ring defence is slipping," followed by quick demonstration  _ where _ it is slipping, which probably leaves another bruise. Qui-Gon follows it all, growing increasingly suspicious as it goes on.

Obi-Wan's mastery over lightsaber forms is perfect. A little… too perfect.

Anakin lasts for good eight minutes under the barrage before having to call quits, calling, "I'm done, I'm done,  _ kriff _ it –" and bending early in double to gasp for breath. "I am so sorry I ever asked you to fight us seriously."

"Don't ask for it if you can't handle it," Obi-Wan says pleasantly, picking up the pole he'd discarded from the floor and then holding them both to his side before bowing. "It was a good duel. Thank you Anakin. Thank you, Shmi. Well done, both of you."

The spectators cheer while Shmi and Anakin bow to their master, both still a little out of breath. As the other students well in to ask questions about the duel, Qui-Gon narrows his eyes at Obi-Wan.

Shmi is wiping sweat off her face and Anakin's hair is plastered to his forehead, damp with perspiration. Obi-Wan's face, on other hand, isn't even slightly red. There isn't a beat of sweat on his brow. He isn't even out of breath. The only sign of the duel is his hair, slightly out of skew, and his clothes being a little rumbled –and already he is quickly smoothing them back straight.

Shmi straightens Obi-Wan's hair with a small laugh, and then the young man is, again, perfectly put together and utterly proper.

Qui-Gon runs a hand over his mouth, frowning, a little disappointed and even more troubled. A Jedi could do that, he thinks. With good enough use of Force to bolster your internal systems, you could very easily keep yourself from being affected by physical exertions – lot of older Jedi utilise it freely. Qui-Gon himself does too, though due to his favouring of Ataru his duels rarely last longer than handful of minutes at time. Rarely long enough to get sweaty. And yet…

He's missing something here, Qui-Gon thinks, but can't quite put a finger on  _ what _ .

* * *

It isn't until hours later that Qui-Gon gets the chance to speak with Obi-Wan alone.

Night falls somewhere outside, above ground. It doesn't touch them there, under several meters of stone as they are, but they notice the shift in the air. Things get more quiet, the slaves coming in and out of the secret compound ease off to return to their homes and eventually it's just them below ground. Shmi takes time to talk with Dinah some while Anakin does some maintenance on the rough-looking construction droids that are still slowly working on expanding the secret compound.

Qui-Gon slips away from his side, to find Obi-Wan sitting on a cushion on the floor in the main hall, where the lessons had happened, resting his back against the stone wall. His eyes are closed – for a moment Qui-Gon thinks he's sleeping.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon calls, quietly, not wishing to wake him if he is.

"Qui-Gon Jinn," the younger man answers and opens his eyes. They're blue, Qui-Gon thinks, with hint of grey.

The hall around them, seemingly so camped when it was full of nearly twenty people before, now seems impossibly big and wide. Qui-Gon moves forward, hesitating. "May I sit with you?" he asks.

Obi-Wan motions with his gloved hand, and quietly Qui-Gon picks up a cushion from a stack by the wall and lays it down, sitting on his knees on it. The younger man watches him, folding his hands into his sleeves – hiding them, Qui-Gon thinks.

So far, he has not seen Obi-Wan take his gloves off once.

"You have concerns," Obi-Wan comments quietly.

"Yes," Qui-Gon admits, frowning a little, watching him. He still looks startlingly like a Jedi, but Qui-Gon call tell the clothes his wear are all local make. Jedi tunics and robes, though designed to look handcrafted, are generally mechanically mass produced. Some Jedi make their own clothes, following older traditions of providing what little they need for themselves from ground up, or just wishing to add in various their cultural insignias. Obi-Wan's clothes, Qui-Gon suspects, are all hand-crafted.

The younger man watches him calmly, waiting him to speak. Qui-Gon considers where to begin. He doesn't want to  _ accuse _ the man, or blame him – to know things beyond your station is hardly a crime, and yet… Obi-Wan knows a little too much.

"Where do you come from?" Qui-Gon asks finally. "If you don't mind my asking."

"I don't mind you asking, I just… I can't really answer that. I'm sorry," Obi-Wan answers and looks down. "As much as I come from anywhere, I come from here."

Qui-Gon frowns. Deflection, like, obfuscation? "You speak with a Coruscanti accent," he comments quietly.

"Yes," Obi-Wan agrees, but offers no explanation, not looking to his face.

Qui-Gon says nothing for a moment, considering him. His posture hasn't changed, but the welcoming expression from before is easing into something more neutral – polite, but distant. There is a slightest tilt to his head and his eyes are aimed down – it's not  _ quite _ subservient or submissive, but it's certainly not confrontational either. Does he lack confidence? Not from what Qui-Gon had seen. And yet…

If this man was once a slave and now Qui-Gon is pressing on him questions he doesn't feel comfortable – or  _ free _ – to answer…

Qui-Gon thinks for a moment of Anakin and Shmi, how defensive and protective they were of Obi-Wan – thinking of that moment in Dinah's house, when Obi-Wan had stayed behind. That brief look of confusion on Obi-Wan's beautiful, bearded face when Anakin had told him, " _ Nobody has the right to order you around _ ."

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable," Qui-Gon says quietly,

"I'm sorry I can't satisfy your curiosity," Obi-Wan answers, apologetic, oh so polite. "You must have so many questions and… I can't answer them. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, you don't owe me anything," Qui-Gon says and sighs. "You don't even know me."

Obi-Wan says nothing to that for a moment, glancing up at him and smiling a little and then looking down again. There's always this sense about him, like he knows more than he lets on – it's even stronger now.

It's strangely appealing, that secretive hint knowledge. He's so humble outwardly, but there is so much more going on the inside.

"So," the younger man says. "How do you like our little rebellion so far?"

Qui-Gon sighs and runs a hand over his beard. "It's rather concerning," he admits. "I am worried for them. They are working against such large force than themselves, a systematic order of slavery – and the slave inhibitor chips…"

"You think they'll fail," Obi-Wan surmises.

"I think it's going to be a prodigiously hard task ahead of them," Qui-Gon corrects and considers the hall around them. "They've made immense efforts but it will take more than this."

Obi-Wan considers him silently for a moment and then agrees in a silent nod. "This is only the beginning," he says. "The true rebellion is in the spread of information – it is in what Dinah is doing. It's in educating the slaves and showing them their own power, their strength. It's in spreading the word. Not everyone in Tatooine is for slavery – majority of the planet is against it, actually," he comments plainly. "And statistically it's going down every year. Slaves aren't selling quite as well as they used to, ten, fifteen, twenty year ago…"

Qui-Gon wonders how old he was, if he was born into it – if he had been shaped into being what he is now. He doesn't say anything. "So the groundwork is there," he comments.

"Well, not really – it is there now, but there was a base to build it on," Obi-Wan says.

Qui-Gon hums in agreement. "So, what do you think will happen now?" he asks. "Considering the attack on your home…"

Obi-Wan hesitates. "Like Shmi said, there will be more pushback, more incidents. Perhaps even demonstrations of power," he says quietly. "The word is spreading and it makes the slave owners nervous. There will be… incidents. And the Skywalkers are at the heart of it."

"As are you," Qui-Gon points out, frowning. "You're the one teaching these people, you'll be right in there with them."

Obi-Wan bows his head a little. "Perhaps," he agrees.

Qui-Gon watches him, taking in the calm expression, the posture he is sitting in. It's not quite easy, there is something about the line of his shoulders that comes across a little awkward, but he neither sounds nor feels uneasy or afraid. He's only calm.

Obi-Wan frowns a little as the silence stretches and glances up, meeting his eyes briefly. Then he looks down again, blinking rapidly. "Are you going to stay, Master Jinn?" he then asks, glancing up and away again.

He never holds eye contact for long, Qui-Gon thinks, and wonders sadly at it. "I think I am," he admits. "I don't know if I have much to offer this rebellion, it is hardly my place and I can't – "he stops, making a face.

"Can't give it the legitimacy of supporting it officially, as a Jedi Master," Obi-Wan guesses. "I understand."

"Hm," Qui-Gon agrees, sighing. So much politics in Jedi duties, these days. "I would still like to help, in however way I can," he says and looks at the younger man. "I would very much be honoured to see what becomes of it. Or… do you mind my presence here?"

"No, not at all," Obi-Wan says quickly and offers him a smile. "I did not say it before, I'm sorry – but I am very honoured to meet you, master Jinn," he says and bows his head. "It might be a little uneasy for the others, you are an unconnected outlander after all…  but I certainly don't mind."

That awkward half smile suits him, Qui-Gon thinks. Pity about the length of his moustache – it almost hides his lips. "Call me Qui-Gon," the Jedi says and smiles in return. "I am very honoured to meet you as well, Obi-Wan. From what I've seen there's much many could learn from one such as you."

Something odd flashes through the younger man's eyes before he lowers them. He private little smile of pleasure more than makes up for it, though.

* * *

It's hardly the first time Qui-Gon has been attracted to someone. He's over sixty years old – in his time he's felt attraction to more people than he can quite recall now. Obi-Wan is an easy man to feel that attraction too – he's kind, warm, polite, extremely easy on the eyes and so obliging. How much of that is whatever training he's been given, whatever habits his masters forcibly installed in him, Qui-Gon doesn't know, it doesn't really matter. Fact remains.

Qui-Gon is, easily, twice the man's age. And it is not as if man of Obi-Wan's looks and demeanour wouldn't have others interested. And of course Qui-Gon is a very recent and somewhat uneasy addition to Obi-Wan's life, one that is fated to be transient. His sabbatical is of undetermined length, but it will end eventually. And Jedi… aren't to form such connections anyway.

That changes little. Obi-Wan is still highly attractive, his manners are still pleasing, his demeanour still pleasant and easy to enjoy. It's easy to get distracted by him – so easy in fact that it takes some time for Qui-Gon to notice that despite all of this… Obi-Wan doesn't seem to enjoy that sort of attention anywhere near as much as he reasonably should.

There are young women – and men – a plenty coming and going in the secret compound. There are number of elder teenagers among Obi-Wan's students too. None of them show any sign of feeling any sort of attraction or interest towards him. They enjoy his company, respect him – even love him – but somehow…

Somehow Qui-Gon seems to be the only one looking at Obi-Wan with that discerning eye. How embarrassing.

Hopefully the lack of interest from other quarters doesn't make his stand out – he'd hate to make the young man feel awkward about him. Especially not since he'd managed to find something of a common ground with the young man.

So many subjects they avoid of talking, so many things that send Obi-Wan awkwardly staring at the floor – somehow they find their common ground in Anakin. It really shouldn't be that surprising – Anakin had been Qui-Gon's prospective student and now is Obi-Wan's Padawan in all but name.

"There are things I can never teach him," Obi-Wan admits, quietly, embarrassedly. "I can tell him all I know about the Force, but never describe how it feels. I can teach him meditation and mantras but it's a hollow tutelage when I can't explain fully what it does to his Force to train his mind. It's… frustrating, sometimes, that I can't help him there."

He looks at Qui-Gon, almost plaintive. "Could you perhaps meditate with him, time or two? Perhaps tell him…" he trails off. "I wouldn't wish to trouble you, but…"

"I certainly don't mind – I'd be honoured to," Qui-Gon says – he couldn't have said no even if Obi-Wan hadn't given him such a look. "What is he having trouble with?"

"It's my trouble more than his really," Obi-Wan admits. "Because I lack the sensation, I can't explain to him the effects of some of the exercises I have him do, or the effects of the philosophies and ethics I try to teach him. He's very concerned with the physical effect of the Force – it comes easy for him – but the mental aspect of it and how the very ideology and beliefs he relies on, how they affect it…" he shakes his head, helpless.

Qui-Gon arches his eyebrows. Those are concepts even seasoned Masters have trouble understanding themselves – and Obi-Wan is fretting over his own inability to part them on a thirteen year old? Good grief – what a  _ Jedi _ this man could've been, if only he was a Force sensitive himself…

"Shmi is easier with it – she understands it all instinctively," Obi-Wan continues. "But Anakin is more mechanical in his thinking – more material, I suppose. He cares about the precise control, the reaction, the  _ effect _ , not the…" he searches for a word and then waves a helpless hand at the whole matter. "The  _ sense _ of it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I think I do," Qui-Gon says, watching him interestedly. "That is something most students have trouble with, you know – it's not problem unique to Anakin. Most Jedi don't grasp the concept until they're well into their Knighthood."

"I know," Obi-Wan sighs, forlorn. "Anakin is special, though."

Qui-Gon thinks about the door and nods. "Yes, he is," he agrees, and wonders if Obi-Wan knows the prophecy. So far, there hasn't seemed to be much about the Jedi he  _ doesn't _ know. Qui-Gon is getting used to it – though it is still a little alarming.

"By the way," he says slowly. "Did you add your information to the Row's Network?"

Obi-Wan pauses at that, glancing at him and then looking away. "Would it bother you if I did?" he asks.

"It's not my place to judge," Qui-Gon says, level. "I am curious – I would very much like to read what you wrote, if you did write something for the slaves to learn from."

For a moment Obi-Wan says nothing. "I did add something there," he admits then. "It's… not my writing, though," he says and bows his head. "I added some treatises, essays, and poetry and such of those Jedi whose way of thinking I think be helpful and comforting to the slaves."

Qui-Gon stops at that, staring at him. "You mean – actually writings of the Jedi?" he asks. "You have – from the Holonet?"

Obi-Wan closes his eyes briefly and shakes his head before looking up. "No," he admits quietly. "Not from the holonet."

Qui-Gon stares at him silently for a moment, trying to figure it out. Not from the holonet – therefore, from the Archives. Somehow, Obi-Wan has had access to the Jedi Archives. Enough of an access that he has actual  _ data _ from it.

"How –"

"Please don't ask me," Obi-Wan says quickly, quietly, and stares at the floor between them. "I don't want to lie to you."

Qui-Gon closes his eyes and looks away, feeling a sharp, intense…  _ something _ in his chest. "I – would still like to have a look," he says and clears his throat. It would be interesting to see what Obi-Wan considered  _ helpful and comforting _ in Jedi writings. And if at the same time it might help him glean just how much data Obi-Wan has access to – because to select such things, he would need a wider collection to choose from…

Obi-Wan looks at him, searching and then looks away. "I'll see about getting you access to the network," he says, very careful.

"Thank you," Qui-Gon says, nodding. For a moment he too avoids looking at the other – the space between them seems so treacherous now, and he doesn't want to disturb it, doesn't want to do anything that might widen the distance.

When he looks up, Obi-Wan has his eyes closed. His expression is calm and inscrutable, but somehow Qui-Gon gets from him a sense of  _ dejection _ .

"Hey, it's alright," Qui-Gon says quietly. "I don't judge you for the things you can't say."

"You would if you knew," Obi-Wan answers and opens his eyes. The smile that comes to his face is easy and comfortable – and a little sad. "If only you knew, you wouldn't be talking to me at all."

Qui-Gon arches an eyebrow at that. He has thought up thousand terrible scenarios which might produce a man like Obi-Wan. So powerful, so knowledgeable, so painfully wise, and quietly, softly subservient. Who would teach a slave the things Obi-Wan knows – who would have access to such knowledge and the need to impart them on a  _ slave _ ? For what purpose had Obi-Wan been trained for?

Qui-Gon feels no darkness about him, his presence in the force is a quiet, calm hum. A Jedi might've taught him what he knows… but a Jedi wouldn't have made him so afraid of retribution from another Jedi.

"You're wrong," Qui-Gon says. "There isn't a scenario where I wouldn't wish to talk to you."

"You only say that because you don't know," Obi-Wan says and smiles.

Qui-Gon shakes his head, and reaches over the distance. Obi-Wan goes completely still under his touch, not even breathing, as Qui-Gon strokes his fingers over the edge of his ginger beard, where smooth skin pushes the lightly curling hair forward. He opens his mouth to speak and then hesitates, frowning

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan says quickly and withdraws from his touch standing up. "I'm – I'm sorry Qui-Gon, excuse me, I need to -"

Qui-Gon is left holding nothing, confusedly staring at where the other man just sat, as Obi-Wan all but flees from him. In his fingers he still feels it – the lack of it, rather.

Obi-Wan's skin had no temperature. It was neither warm nor cold – it's soft and supple and the exact temperature of the air around them.


End file.
